Define Sanity
by skyflyte12
Summary: Rule of thumb for Harry James Potter: life's unpleasant and then you're dead. Or, as it turns out, stuck in a world of ninja. Starts Pre-Kyuubi, based in Naruto-world
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

•◊**ΰ◊•**

_~The road of life leads ever on, but not always in the direction you want it to~_

No one had ever accused Harry James Potter of being a level-headed individual.

Infact, they were far too often harping on about his Gryffindor-tendencies; that inescapable quirk of his which lead to him tripping head-first into plots upon plots of the malevolent inclination on a semi-regular basis, most of which involving breaking at least half of Britain's Wizarding Laws and snaking out of the mess by the skin of his teeth.

Or at least that was the drill until he had found himself quite outnumbered, quite captured and quite without a convenient back-door or allies in unexpected and often dubious places to get him out of it.

It had all started out fairly standard.

Just the run-of-the-mill mission; get a location, go in, blunder around, engage enemy, blow shit up, get into some kind of melodramatic hostage situation and be back and snugly inside Hogwarts Castle by lunchtime for Dobby's newest dread-inducing recipe. Well, it _had_ been like that, if you took out the bit about 'escape' and confronting an approval-seeking two-sandwiches-short-of-a-picnic house-elf.

Not exactly the part he'd choose to stuff up; he'd prefer to skip the whole melodramatic bit, given an option.

But as he'd learned by now, his life was probably the big epic novel of the Gods (or whatever being(s) that had been high when the idea about his life was conceived) and apparently his daily quota of dramatic intrigue had yet to be satisfied.

Of course, the hostage situation had been a little iffy (the best hostage they'd had this time was some warty old Wizengamot member, and he hadn't been sold on risking his well-being for one of _them_) and he'd _thought_ that he would have enough time to nip by McDonalds so he could deflect Dobby's well-meant but ill-conceived attempts to 'fatten him up' (like Poppy's nutrient potions hadn't worked like a… er, charm) when suddenly a cricket ball crashed through the window and beaned him on the head.

Yes, it _would_ be some random kid that got him into this mess, wouldn't it? Not like he could go down defeating like a hundred and two Death Eaters in a rage-induced stupor fighting for the memory of his girlfriend who was just tragically killed in front of him by the Big Bad himself?

Of course not.

The only thing that saved the shards of his shattered pride was that it hadn't been the cricket ball itself that got him – it was the cricket _bat_ that followed it. Or at least that's what he gathered from the snickering explanation of the guard to his obligatory dark/dank/gloomy/uncomfortable and lacking of hygienic appliances jail cell.

They must eat and breathe cliché's on the Dark Side – hell, he was probably right now in Lucius Malfoy's basement (although they assured him that the correct term was 'dungeon' he wasn't buying it) and they were waiting to finally kill him after they had all his closest friends lined up to go first.

Well, that _had_ been what he'd assumed would happen, all those months ago when he was freshly landed in the snake pit of the opposite side of the war. Of course, he'd also thought he could pull a 'oh, look in that direction while I steal your keys and find an ingenious escape route and sneak past everyone in this place, would you?' moment.

Yeah, that plan was shot to hell when he had the epiphany that no, wizards didn't _have_ keys, thankyou-_very_-much, and they were even less likely to open the door when food could be delivered via magic and cleaning was a matter of gesturing vaguely and stringing a few words in a funky language together.

Of course, he could argue that the torture had screwed up his proper thought processes, but well… he'd made it a habit not to lie to himself when he'd decided that everyone else was fair game – otherwise he'd never get the truth straightened out and where would he be then? So no, he couldn't blame his 'Goyle moment' on brain-twisting-pain, but he did blame it on his muggle raising and watching James Bond and other movies through the crack in his cupboard door. Was it his fault if none of them had taken magical hostages into account when thinking up witty capture-escape scenarios?

Of course, he had taken to introspection through liberal use of occlumency as his refuge from the pain – he could not do it all the time (unfortunately) or he'd end up trapped in his own mind much like Neville's parents – and that had resulted in at the very least a distraction from the cruciatus curse or (ironically enough) the absolutely _foul_ potion that was designed to _cure_ the effect of that Unforgivable (which he firmly believed was worse than the actual curse itself).

Other forms of torture to which he was exposed included curses that solely attacked his mind – it showed horrific sights of past or present Death Eater attacks, or whatever other sadistic thing they thought up which he would only realise wasn't real when he was released (at least until he figured out the trick of blocking them and confining them to a small space in his perceptions; kinda like a split-screen tv – he could see what they wanted him to see and react accordingly, but wouldn't actually be effected by it and know that it wasn't real.

Another of their favourites was having whichever snake they had found lately with a new type of sadistic venom that it produced bite him to see what effect on _him_ it would have (due to the Basilisk-bite incident, he had found that he couldn't actually die from most poisons, but that didn't mean he didn't get sick or harmed) which usually meant endless days spent in delirious fever or arctic freezes, or anything in between.

Discarding the _types_ of torture they subjected him to, and the long periods of unconsciousness, delirium, _pain_, weakness, bone-weariness, and pretty much everything else of the spectrum; Harry had at first still held hope to find his way out – he had friends, right? He had allies too – hell, even some inside Voldie's camp! If it were Ron or Hermione captured, he'd be breaking down the door and storming to place, screw anything else! But weeks passed, and then months, and he'd lost that naivety that he'd allowed himself for perhaps too long a time.

Going over memories with this newly-gained perspective had shaken him up and made it easier to ignore the torture for a good few weeks, due to his emotional turbulence taking up all conscious thought – how had he not seen that Ron was a jealous kid to a fault and had really only stuck by him for the fame and notoriety? How had he missed how condescending and frankly demanding Hermione had acted towards him? For that matter, how had he not realised that pretty much all the messes in his life could be traced back to Dumbledore? Er, three-headed-dog, guarding a world-renown _stone_ in a freaking _school_? That it was a headmaster's _duty_ to ensure the well-being of his students, and he surely would have noticed, oh, the really _dark_ magic that would no doubt emanate off something as dark as a _horcrux-spirit-thing_ that just happened to be in the back of the DADA professor's _head_! Not very subtle, is it? And for that matter, any _proper_ educator would have had the students evacuate a school the _second_ someone wrote on the walls _in blood_ proclaiming that they would be _killing_ half the student population! They also wouldn't just pat a student on the back and send him on his merry way after seeing a fellow student _murdered _in front of their eyes! Think of the psychological car crash _that_ could cause?

Of course, the blinding anger was levelled by the reality of the fact that _ok_, he was being tortured at the moment and _no,_ he didn't have any new ideas about slipping away even if it would be to storm Hogwarts to cut a bloody swathe towards a certain expert-legilimency-using Headmaster.

Although his torture sessions now gave him… _ideas_ on what to do if he ever found himself in an opportune situation.

And don't think he missed out on the fact that his thoughts seemed to be pushed in different directions after meetings with said bearded decrepit man, nor had he skipped over the fact that there were pretty little strings that _had_ stopped him thinking about certain things – like, oh, the fact he had _murdered_ when he was an eleven year old! He couldn't believe that he had pretty much forgotten that, but now those little strings were out of the way… well. He was finding more and more little delicate strings, 'guiding' his thoughts in certain directions – like away from the fact that Dumbledore, as head of the Wizengamot, had a Duty to see that all suspected criminals got trials – funny how Sirius Black, the man that had been a likely candidate for legitimate guardianship for Harry, had just been locked away and forgotten about until his escape.

Not suspicious at all – as if!

But as all things, his burning anger had been guttered out through the torture; removed and relaxed while his thoughts turned to more practical things – _survival_ – which had demanded that he come to terms with the current state of his life. In order to perform occlumency, he had to understand his feelings, accept them, and use them to his advantage – his potent and turbulent emotions were leant to the formidable barriers surrounding his mind, as he had found them to be his solution to the 'clear your mind' issue with occlumency lessons with Snape. When he finally cracked, broke into Snape's office and stole away with books on Occlumency, (and the snarky git had said that it 'couldn't be learned from a book' – utter bullshit) he had been in an almost blind rage to discover that there were perhaps hundreds of different ways of learning occlumency, and Snape had chosen the hardest one; the one that would cause the learner immense pain – and that was _without_ someone already on the inside of your mind 24/7!

But enough of his road to Occlumency-aptness; the thing that he had been originally aiming towards was getting across the fact that he'd experienced _pain_. He'd lived in it; basked in it – all types and forms of it – for the last few months (possibly six, possibly nine) and he'd built up a _formidable_ tolerance to it. He didn't have any heroic reasons for still being tortured – they hadn't even questioned him in any comprehensible way – their goal was clean cut, and it was obviously to make him suffer as much or more than humanly possible, to beg for death and more.

Which he had done.

He would defy anyone to go through what he went through and _not_ wish for an end; not wish for release from a fleshy prison of stinging nerves, crushed and splintered bones, dislocated and ripped joints, vanished bones and burning poisons directed at confusing and harming the senses, melting limbs. Only to have it all fixed in the most painful and complete way possible (one sadistic muggle-wary pureblood had cackled gleefully while muttering something like 'putting Humpty-Dumpty together again') and be left with one day of reprieve; one day of exhaustion, one day free from the insane gazes of the Torture Division (as frightening as it was to discover Voldemort even _had_ divisions) and gazing at skin that had been grown back inch-by-agonising-inch, free from any blemish that betrayed his experiences.

Bellatrix had nothing on those guys.

They had to be insane – he got the feeling that they did a lot of experiments on him just for the fun of it – _painful_ experiments. The one that stood out in harsh reality in his mind to this day was the one that they had done to 'avoid another incident' as they had put it. That 'incident' may have involved his use of wildly uncontrolled and undirected wandless magic, which may have resulted in the explosion of three separate rooms, a library of books (all very valuable and unique), two dark artifacts stolen from the goblins at Gringotts and seven or eight stupid Death Eaters that had gotten in the way.

Would now be a good time to mention that he was extremely satisfied with that result?

Anyway, wandless magic had never been his forte – it was hard, it required the proper amount of motivation, and it was simple to just pick up a wand (or steal one) to get a better and more controlled result. Which is not to say he was incapable of it – 'proficient' would be a good term.

…Or at least proficient in using it to blow stuff up and acting like a person capable of telekinesis.

He had laughed and laughed, even through the vicious torture that had gone up a notch since the incident – until they decided to take precautions against it happening again.

Now, he'd already been in a cell that sucked out magic – ironically using his own magic to power the wards that kept him in – but they now had him in magic-sucking cuffs whenever he was to be dragged to the next torture chamber. Even so, he managed another explosion, although on a smaller scale, a few weeks afterwards.

That led to the experiment that still made his skin crawl and had him rubbing his eyes.

They called it 'taking precautions'. He called it 'refined sadism'. He wasn't sure exactly what had happened or how, but after that whenever he moulded magic, they would _know_. He knew it had something to do with his eyes – they would watch his eyes, and would know about any legilimency probes the second they were sent when before they hadn't even had occlumency shields.

They would watch his eyes and suddenly they were electrocuting him whenever he started moulding magic – something that still baffled him to this day, although he had stopped his blowing-things-up kick simply because the shocks would get stronger and stronger the more he tried – the last had him unconscious and electrocuting people on contact (something that he secretly enjoyed).

The reason he knew it had something to do with his eyes was also because that was where they had used the potions and focused a lot of magic on – magic that had his eyes bleeding and the corneas shifting and _changing_. Hurt like hell. In the end, he'd ended up with vastly improved eyesight (something he knew was not their intention) and apparently some kind of thing to tell them when he was doing magic.

He flinched as an icy hand rested against his forehead, and forced open his eyes to reacquaint himself with reality.

The same dank cell, the same metal bars, the same feeling of dirty magic hung in the air, the same feeling of depression and hopelessness that he had come to associate with a spell that had been threaded into the wards containing him.

Harry could feel the crust around his eyes, the dirt in the folds of his clothing, the dry blood under his fingernails, the desert-worthy temperature that had been the chosen torture device of the past twelve or so days.

His eyes slid groggily open, only to be met with oily black hair, a sneer worthy of a TD (Torture Department) goon and that sick little glint in the eyes that sent those unaccustomed into shivers of terror, flinching backwards and away with the instinctive _predator_/_psychopath_ feeling of impending horror.

You could always tell a TD crony from the others by that telling light of madness in their eyes.

The man was muttering to himself, but there was nothing comprehensible to Harry in it. Suddenly, oily was grabbing his arms and pulling them together and clipping on the pitch-black magic-sucking cuffs. They had been raised up a notch, if the absolute and instant feeling of his magic draining out of his core like a bucket without a bottom was to judge by. They did that every once in a while – he wasn't sure whether it was his magic getting resistant to the affect or if it was growing, but they were now increasing the intensity of them every second week, by his count.

Harry could only wonder what they used his magic to do.

There were the four large and hulking guards that had been relegated the task of making damn sure he couldn't get away through physical efforts – kick a TD in the groin and run off a few times (only to be captured about a corridor away) and they decide they need 'muscle'. Or at least what counted as muscle in the wizarding world, which was really no comparison to weight lifters in the mundane world.

It was a dark corridor, the same corridor that he had been led down countless times before, still with the blood stains that had been the result of a rather zealous group of Goyle-guards before this one – would it surprise anybody to learn that the actual Goyle was a part of this? He thought not.

But there was something strange about this time.

Usually, the Goyle-guards and TD groupie would be throwing taunts at him and explaining in minute detail just what the TD guys had come up with _this time_ to use on him.

It was setting off alarm bells in Harry's mind that they were silent. He could detect that they seemed to be wearing their 'masks', but underneath that they were practically vibrating with suppressed anticipation, although – and this worried him the most – there was also anxiety there.

They turned left, now moving into the heart of the Torture Division, easily divined by the blood stains that nobody had even bothered to clean off the floor – the whole corridor smelt of blood, pain, _death_. The blood of the victims of the TD coated the floor and in some cases the walls, left over from victims being dragged out of their sessions with the sadists.

Alarm and panic now wound itself through his head – this was _bad_. They were taking him… _there_.

_There_ was a place of the most gruesome history in even the TD. Amongst sadists, there was only one willing to work in that room; only one. The screams that came from whatever happened in that room echoed, sent shivers through even the torturer's spines. Anyone who went in did not come out. Period.

Harry could see the door at the very end of the corridor.

It was a pristine white – the only such door that stood out starkly from the other blood coated and black-ish grey doors and walls.

Harry struggled, kicking the oily TD that held him in the shin only to be converged on by the four Goyle-guards. He dropped to the ground, refusing to move, scrabbling backwards.

The guards each grabbed a limb; lifting him bodily from the ground and ignoring his wild attempts at removing his legs and arms from their grips.

And suddenly the door opened, and there were two faces staring out at him.

One was a man with grey hair and a straggly beard, yellow teeth and eyes in which held only madness – nothing else. The other was a creature that Harry knew on sight – Lord Voldemort, red eyes glinting in eagerness and triumph, white features holding sadism that easily matched that of the man standing next to him that could only be the head of the TD.

Icy-cold fear – the likes of which he hadn't felt since the beginning of his months in hell – settled around his mind and slid down his spinal cord.

Whatever they had in store for him, he could only hope that it would end in death.

•◊**ΰ◊•**

Harry found himself roughly strapped onto what could be compared to a flat operating table in a blindingly white room, harnesses coated in magic-sucking runes and all done up too tight and biting into his skin uncomfortably.

Voldemort, he knew, had retreated to a seat that was just out of his sight range, but even so Harry could feel the blood-red gaze fixed on him.

His clothes had been vanished (a regular process, so not all that problematic) and the grey-haired man had used an array of cleansing spells on his body. The air was thick with what he could tell was an enclosing ward, as well as an electric ward – aimed towards electrocuting any who would step past it without some form of pass that had been keyed into it.

He was desperately trying to ignore the absolute fear this situation had plunged him into – he could clearly remember the other times that so much extensive warding had been used, and they were the _bad_ times – the times when some experimental potion for enhancement of some sort was being forced down his throat and felt like it was tearing at his insides. His eyes had been 'fixed' in a situation like this one.

The TD bastard's face appeared in his line of vision, centimetres away from his nose, an unholy grin upon his features, holding up what Harry had feared – a deep-green and glowing potion in a bottle, quite similar to the colour of the Avada Kedavra curse.

"Ah, my pretty, you have done very well these last few months!" The mad man _crooned_ at him, as if he were telling lullabies to an infant.

Harry stiffened when one of the man's bony fingers ran over his jaw. He felt like some kind of insect was crawling over his skin – something dirty and unnatural, and he realised quickly that that was the feeling of this man's tainted magic, festering like a deadly disease as it coasted near his own depleted reserves before it retracted as the man withdrew his limb.

The man continued in his baby-voice and it struck Harry that Bellatrix had most probably moulded her own act upon this abomination of a human. "Ah, yes, you, my boy, have survived where none have before, and tonight will be the last step of making you the perfect disciple of My Lord, won't it? Yes, you'll know no other thing, and when they see you in a few years, they will break, and we will finally win against those incompetent baby-kissers."

He was chatting almost absentmindedly, appearing to be talking to himself more than the man he had strapped to the table. Harry's fear solidified as he stared in horror up at the mad man, revolted at the very idea and he spat out vehemently, "You psychopath! As if I'd _ever_ work under Tommie Riddle! Never in a million years – I'd prefer to redo all this _torture_ before I'd work for Riddle, and I want to do that much less than I want to die!"

A strange manic grin lit the man's face up as he blinked, his previously unfocused eyes refocusing on Harry and studying him like one would a piece of furniture or maybe a hunter would a deer, judging if it was worth the bullet that it would take to kill the animal. He crooned again, "Ah, but my _pretty_ – that would depend on your idea of you – are you still you if you don't have your precious memories?"

Harry flinched and he felt himself go rigid at the implication that he would lose his memory at the end of this night.

The man was watching him with those sickly yellow eyes – but Hell No would he just let that bastard take away his memories! Who did the madman think he was? He was Harry-bloody-Potter, the Luckiest-Man-Alive (and lucky to be alive) – he'd lived and survived through too much shit now to just let this maniac come along and take his memories and life away from him! Who cares that he'd had a shitty life? Who cares that he had no idea what he would do if he ever escaped from Riddle's clutches? HE wasn't gonna roll over and let that arsehole take away his life!

He wordlessly snarled at the man, too angry for words and was rewarded with picking out the slight flinch that it caused in that man – that mad man that should not have been remotely capable of feeling _anything_ any more, much less fear of a man that was thoroughly restrained and just about to become his next _experiment_.

Harry took that dark satisfaction and added it to his already formidable fog of mental defence – which had lately changed almost singly to types of pain.

The bastard mad man's eyes flicked over to where Harry knew Voldemort had positioned himself – in a front row seat to whatever was about to be inflicted upon Harry – and whatever Riddle had done, it caused the man to move forwards and uncork the bottle that held the glowing green substance.

Harry didn't even bother locking shut his mouth – it would happen eventually, and there were numerous easy and extremely painful (for Harry) ways to force him to take that damn substance, and the man also had all the time in the world – it wasn't like his allies would choose the next few seconds to show up after all the unbroken months of torture.

But there _was_ one thing he could do – he had already used occlumency to draw his mind as far back from the surface as he dared, leaving only the most important connecting points. Whatever this was going to be, it would hurt like a bitch – that much he knew.

The moment the liquid hit his tongue, it _burned_. It _burned_ what seemed like a hole through his throat and down into his digestive track, spreading through into his bloodstream and in turn around his body.

He was screaming from the very start.

This was the worst so far; this pain was to everything he had experienced before now as the cruciatus is to a paper cut – simply no comparison.

Liquid fire burnt into his veins, into his skin, into his very bones; tearing them and melting them and shrinking them.

The two in the room, as evil and desensitized to their own methods as they were, had to squash a reaction to the blood-curdling scream that was released as the effect of the potion started up.

Voldemort watched in fascination as the Potter's skin bubbled and blistered, _moved_ and bones splintered and shrunk down, seemingly bending into themselves over and over again, reforming smaller than it was before.

The process certainly appeared excruciating, and he knew that this was the farthest they had ever attempted to de-age a person – anything more than ten years had ended up as almost husks of themselves, never with any memory of how their lives had been beyond the age to which they had receded – it was for the pure agonising pain, results of madness and loss of memory had this potion been classified as 'Black', and even in the time in which this had been registered was there nary a whisper of opposition – both sides had agreed that it was better left untouched.

Until Voldemort had found a use for it – find a strong wizard, no matter the side, de-age him, and you suddenly have a future fanatically devoted recruit to be moulded to your service and ideals. Of course, only he and Larov knew of this project; it would not do to have the Light made aware of what had happened to some of those wizards that had disappeared before he had even started his campaign. The individuals turned out of this method had been truly the perfect soldiers.

And now he had gotten his hands on Potter.

What better way to win than to make your enemy into the perfect warrior for your side? What better way to crush rebellion?

So he had had his Experimental Department give potions and whisper ideas into the minds of his Torturers, aimed at enhancing Potter while at the same time causing immense pain (there really was no other way, and he may as well enjoy it while he could, right?) and when it came time to de-age the brat, all those enhancements would stick with him, cleanly avoiding the possible rebellion that the child might have if he had had to force the painful treatments on him at that age.

Potter had even managed to keep his sanity – that had impressed him, he hated to admit. That he should be capable of coherent thought, despite the pain that radiated from his mind – so much that it obscured all thought from even his legilimens probes – and still be capable of replying to Larov? Simply marvellous.

Because of this, Potter was being de-aged far more than any of the previous subjects – he had always had a stubborn streak, and Voldemort feared that should he be over eleven that he would remember Hogwarts and all that he had no doubt been told to poison him against Voldemort in that first contact with the wizarding world. This child would not know that his parents had not died in a car crash – it would be likely he would even think Voldemort was saving him from his abusive muggle guardians, if his source was to be believed.

Potter was to be de-aged 16 years. He would be a mere child of six when he awoke from the potion's effects, and easily suggestible.

And before that happened, he would just have to enjoy his rival's pain one last time.

Ah, such is the demanding life of a Dark Lord.

•◊**ΰ◊•**

Apparently, there _was_ a limit as to how long one could enjoy watching as someone experienced their body melt and reform into that of a child's before becoming extremely bored with the whole situation.

Voldemort believed that it had happened sometime after the third hour, when Potter's throat had apparently been too ripped from continuous screaming that it gave out, and the only signs of his distress was the brilliantly excruciated expression, and the twitching of his receding limbs – having apparently ran out of the energy that had had him tearing at the restraints for the first hour or so. Which was probably just as well, as Potter was now too small even for the automatically adjusting restraints.

Of course, he wasn't about to wait around watching the pathetic thing that his rival had descended to when it had gotten boring, so he'd exited the room, gotten something to eat and drink, scared a few minions and enjoyed messing with Lucius' head for a few hours before the ward that he'd set up to alert him when the potion had finished its work activated.

He quickly made his way back to the Room, enjoying the respect and terror shown towards him by his followers along the way. Opening the door, he felt almost… exhilarated to have achieved this; this victory over his only true rival and opposition would be the turning point in this war. He would soon be able to crush over the rebellion. With no 'Chosen One' to lead them, the idiots of Britain would no doubt descend into chaos, making it all the more simple to rule them.

The door opened silently, and Voldemort was pleased beyond words at the small little boy with glassy green eyes sitting on the hard table, dressed in a simple robe that Larov had no doubt conjured.

Squaring his gaze to the child's, he was immeasurably pleased to sense the cloud of pain that covered his thoughts – this was exactly what the other patients had shown; the pain had wound through their mind, destroying memories and experiences as the mental strove to match the physical.

"Child." He purred, advancing in the most non-threatening way he knew how.

Flat green eyes blinked at him, and a funny expression passed over the boy's features. Voldemort moved towards the little boy, strides long and measured.

The child said nothing as his expression settled into confusion, just as Voldemort had known it would. The child's flat green eyes turned towards the ground, seeming to draw into himself.

This would not do. By this time, Voldemort was directly in front of the boy, and he reached out to place a hand underneath his chin.

There was no warning; no sign that would clue the Dark Lord into the fact that something had escaped him; that yet another of his plans had been destroyed by Harry Potter.

By the time that Voldemort was staring in horror at those eyes, it was too late to realise that in his arrogance he had only seen what he had been looking for.

By this point, the magic was loudly sparking and crackling through the room, finally unfettered by any kind of draining influences for just enough time for this impossible specimen to regain sufficient magic to prove a threat.

The warning that he had had carved into those avada-coloured eyes was staring him in the face, and it was the last thing that he would ever see.

For a split second, the whole universe seemed to narrow down to two people; one, a creature-like once-human who had attempted to cheat death itself; the other, a twenty-two year old in a child's body.

Someone behind Voldemort shouted out a curse, which brushed past the man but was unsuccessful in halting what they two in the room knew was to happen.

The explosion lit up the Malfoy estate, leaving it as a burning crater in the country-side.

No one was found alive when the Aurors showed up with a large strike force in reaction to the veritable explosion of magic.

The Wizards of Britain would celebrate, and the Mystery of the Dark Lord's Second Fall would tease many a generation.

•◊**ΰ◊•**

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I have neither the Time Machine or Writing/Drawing Skillz that would enable me to ever own the rights to either of these stories... :( Don't think its gonna change anytime soon.

**WAAH! Admin ate my story, my baby! **For something silly that I woulda changed!

So I will repost. *Snort*. So much for my 'I'm not gonna post again for a long while' resolution. Problem is I love my story too much to keep it to myself to hold any kind of resolution like that :(

To people who read my first version, I kinda... misplaced a chapter, or three, and you all know that chapters were too short etcetera, so the whole story is gonna be new(ish), cos I'm gonna be adding more details and changing some and generally improving (when I can be bothered). Yes, I'm mad (ANGRY FACE!) but I was kind considering taking the later ones and fixing stuff up anyway so... eh, what can ya do?

Old readers that have stumbled across my problem, I ain't changed a single thing about my first chappie, because it was the one I loved the most – but next chapter will be different. (wah ha ha) Ha, can ya tell I'm on the tail end of 11hours straight working on an assignment that I posted in by email at 4:35am? It's due in at 4:30pm, so SAFE! I only started yesterday too! And I'm either going to fail spectacularly or pass amazingly with my closing statement! Creative risks, yes – 50 points! Backhandedly insulting lecturers, and the format of the assignment on the whole, 100 points!

...Worth 60% of the mark for my unit... huh, big risk... maybe I should take a look back over it when I'm not suffering from over-exhaustion. You know, that happy place you get trapped in after you get too tired to sleep? That's where I am, right now.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

**•◊ΰ◊•**

_~The person who smiles when things go wrong has found someone to blame it on~_

The return to consciousness wasn't as comfortable or gradual as Harry had experienced in the past. It was a vertigo-inducing _lurch_ into awareness that sent pain shooting through his eyelids and down his spine.

As his mind painfully and sluggishly kicked back into gear, he noticed that a light breeze was playing across his skin – something that he could hardly remember feeling for a long while – but this pleasant sensation was smothered under the alarms blaring through his senses; that feeling of utter and impending _doom_/_trouble_/_bodily harm_.

While it was an extremely familiar feeling for the Boy-Who-Lived, he had yet to go so totally over the deep-end that he took comfort in it. That was definitely a good thing, from where he was sitting.

That was when he understood the sounds that were reaching his ears – he felt a sinking sensation in his stomach as he recognised the familiar sounds of the 'tang' of clashing blades, the 'crash' of someone being thrown into something hard and solid, the grunts of exertion and even what could be the goading voice of one of the fighters – even if he didn't recognise the language – that were all too close to his position for his own comfort. Chances were they couldn't even _see_ him and he'd be hit as collateral damage.

Great. Just what he'd always wanted; he finally manages to blow up Voldemort only to end up smack dab on the fringe of some battleground when he woke up.

Just typical.

He muttered a few choice curses, bringing his hands up to rub his eyes. It was then that he had another complaint to add to the list – he felt horribly weak; he barely managed to lift them off the ground before allowing his hands to fall back down limply. He could feel the prickling sensations running through his body that he associated with magical drain – it had been such a constant over his time in Lucius' basement that it took him a moment to remember that it wasn't supposed to be the normal state for him. He mentally rolled his eyes, seeing as he couldn't physically role them – how stupid could he get?

The crashes from nearby seemed to be tapering off, and his ears picked out the unmistakable sound of metal sliding into flesh and bone. In the almost complete silence that followed it, he could hear quiet conversation in that foreign language.

He was taken by complete surprise in the next moment as a rough hand rested against his forehead and, even through his exhaustion, he flinched away from it instinctively while one eye flickered open, the ingrained reaction allowing him to catch an unfocused view of a woman's face staring down at him. It was only the apparent concern on her face and the absence of the 'alarm' his instincts usually tap-danced across his mind that allowed him to let his eye fall shut tiredly and accept the creeping cloud of unconsciousness.

**•◊ΰ◊•**

"I just don't know what to do, Maya. We found the kid right near where those Iwa-nin attacked us – what would the little brat be doing out in the middle of nowhere? We can't afford to be taking risks, and he could be an Iwa genin for all we know – after all, that Hatake brat was a genin around his age."

The addressed kunoichi scoffed and wiped her bangs out of her eyes before glancing through the viewing window at the small figure in the hospital bed that dwarfed him very obviously before she spoke frankly; "Look, I don't know when you got so paranoid, but not everyone's a genius! Besides, the kid doesn't have any calluses that tell of shinobi training, and though his chakra network _is_ large – I'll give you that – it isn't refined. He didn't even have a weapon on him, and there's no way that if he _were_ a ninja he'd walk right out near our outpost unarmed and without backup. You _also_ forgot about that injury that I had to stitch up – kami, if we hadn't stumbled across him he'd have probably bled out, although it's beyond me what technique was used to stop his blood from clotting the wound."

She glanced thoughtfully at the line of stitches that she'd had to sew him up with – it was a straight cut that lay across his left cheekbone starting under his eye and stretching to his ear. It was an interesting wound and had a strange chakra infused in it that would have meant the kid's life if left alone. He would have bled out. She could only hope that a shinobi from Iwa _didn't_ do it to the kid because a technique like that would make the smallest of cuts life threatening without treatment, not to mention that it made the use of healing chakra techniques impossible – hence why she'd had to stitch it.

The medic-nin sighed and, turning back to her partner and the jounin in-charge of the outpost, tapped her foot impatiently and raised a brow in lieu of verbally challenging her superior.

Fortunately, her rationale had been clear enough that she could see the slight tinge of red on his other-wise pale cheeks, and she bit back a smirk knowing that it would probably only goad the man into disagreeing with her on principle.

Kazuki sighed and scratched his cheek, scowling but saying "Fine Maya. But _you_ have to keep an eye on him in case he _is_ some kind of Iwa spy." He promptly turned around, muttering about the paperwork that he'd been avoiding and beat a hasty retreat.

Maya smirked to herself before turning back to gaze at the small figure on the bed… the kid was just too small and fragile looking, not to mention that that cut would definitely leave a scar for the rest of his life. She couldn't help but feel some kind of connection with him; the urge to help him out was overwhelming.

Maybe she was just using the kid as a substitute for her sisterly affections; what with her own brother being back in Konoha.

Her gaze snapped to the figure on the bed as she spotted movement indicative of waking. She swiftly approached, mindful to make a bit of noise to avoid frightening the poor kid out of his skin. His breathing sped up out of the regular, deep breaths of sleep and she watched as his eyes fluttered open.

Her breath caught. They really _were _as breath-taking as she remembered from that split-second when they had first found him. That deep green, slightly luminous shade that she had never seen before on a human – ninja or civilian – and she had to smile a little at him as those brilliant eyes focused on her.

The kid blinked a little and she spotted something that she hadn't the previous few moments of watching him – his eyes told of an old soul… someone who had experienced much misery and was unsure if they could handle much more. She recognised that gaze from veteran ANBU and it was more than jarring to see it on a child who could be no more than six years of age.

She had a feeling that she didn't want to know just what had happened to this child. As a ninja, she wasn't exactly the perfect picture of mental health herself though, so she disguised her analysis with a smile and used her most non-threatening medic-nin tone to say lightly, "Hey there kid, good to see you in the land of the living."

Maya stared at the child for a moment, and the child stared back with those too-green eyes. Maya mentally chided herself on being a little uncomfortable in that moment – what did she have to fear from a child? – and decided to continue; "So kid, do you have a name, or am I gonna have to keep calling you 'kid'?"

There was only silence and as Maya stared at those blank green eyes, she knew the kid wouldn't be speaking. She wasn't even sure he could _understand_ her – there was total incomprehension in that gaze that she recognised from when she got into a really technical explanation of a patient's injuries and the other party had no idea what she was saying.

The idea that maybe the kid couldn't understand her was dismissed almost as quickly as it came – what kind of six year old didn't know how to speak? It was more likely the kid was traumatised from whatever/whoever had given him that nasty cut. He was possibly a victim of abuse – it hadn't escaped her observation that the kid flinched away from her touch when they found him, no matter his almost critical exhaustion.

Maya moved a soft hand over the stitches to ensure that they were secure, repressed a sigh and placed a hand on his forehead to check his temperature. Hopefully she could help him.

**•◊ΰ◊•**

Harry was officially Confused.

It was a whole other level from the normal 'confused'. On a scale of 'where is my cat?' to 'where did all my clothes and money go?', he felt he was experiencing the equivalent of the 'what creature just burrowed out of my skin and crawled away?' level.

He could officially say that waking up in a completely different place (when he frankly didn't expect to wake up at all) with a doctor-type woman hovering over him in concern while asking questions in a foreign language (at least he assumed they were questions, and he didn't recognise the language) was a whole new level of confusion for him.

He was really just lucky that enough of his wits remained to remind him that revealing his incomprehension to the woman would be a Bad Idea – it would probably be Suspicious, and the last thing he needed was to arouse interest/suspicion and brand himself as Different from the get-go. He had learnt _that_ particular lesson from his so-called Fame. Not to mention that he got serious 'military' vibes from the woman as well.

Fortunately, he could probably pick up the language quick enough; he blamed his apparent ability with languages as a side-effect of being a parselmouth (although it wasn't like he'd ever asked Riddle if he found the same). It was decidedly weird. By the end of his fourth year, he'd been able to easily speak and understand French and Bulgarian just from listening to passing conversations between the students of the other schools, even though he didn't even mean to pick up anything.

But either way, the current situation looked bad as – 1) he had been picked up by people who had been fighting and possibly killing other people bare seconds prior to finding him. 2) He appeared to be six years old, because _yes_, he _did_ remember what had happened. And he knew well that people seemed to have some kind of universal instinct to protect children, especially abandoned children; he knew this because in the Summer of '85 the Dursley's had 'forgotten' him during a visit to the National Park, and he'd spent a few months with a nice old couple that had found him there before being picked up and delivered back to his disgruntled relatives by what he knew now to be wizards.

And having the dubious pleasure of looking exactly like a child no doubt meant that they would protest his every attempt at escaping from their (well-meaning) clutches. Er, if they _were_ well-meaning in the first place, that was.

He decided that the fact that he was in a hospital bed as opposed to someone else's basement was a good indication of his relative safety with these people.

The healer woman stopped her prodding and examining, shooting him a 'you-be-good-now' look before smiling in a comforting and affectionate manner and ruffling his hair, which was mildly irritating but he couldn't find the energy to raise his hand and swat her away.

He sighed. There'd be no escaping her now.

**•◊ΰ◊•**

There were words.

Lots, and lots of words.

Coming out of the woman's mouth.

That he could not understand.

And he didn't dare open his big fat (six-year-old-ish) gob, upon fear of being classified something Strange – like, you know, a freak.

Not that he thought the woman looked the type to call him something like that. If he kind of squinted and tilted his head to a 45 degree angle, she looked sorta like a really mild version of Madame Prince, the Hogwarts librarian.

Huh... maybe that's not a good thing? He'd always assumed she was a terrible, grumpy old woman because she demanded silence and seemed the type to demand a pound of flesh for every instance of damaging her precious books.

Okay, she was totally not in any way like that old bat, throw that thought out of the damn window and lock it! Nup, no way! She was totally a nice, person.

He based this firmly upon the evidence that she had yet to approach him with anything pointy and/or sharp, and _yes_, maybe his idea of exactly what constituted as a totally okay human-shaped being (for all he knew) was a little bit skewed after his time in Lucius' basement, but he'd take what peace of mind was offered at the moment, thank you very much.

She was still talking. He could feel his tiny, little, kiddy (and god didn't he hate kids) jaw flapping in the wind, but he'd artfully pulled the scratchy white(ish) hospital(?) blanket up to his nose. To get a sound barrier between him and her. And, you know, to look like a cute widdle innocent kiddy, which was probably why she was being so nice in the first place.

"blah, blah, oh yeah I don't understand and thing, pointed gesture and I'm gonna rest on the end of your bed, to make sure you get the full affect of my innocent, oh I totally am I caring adult demeanour, blah blah."

Yeah, he was adlibbing the words, but for all he knew, they could totally be true.

She was now silently giving him a heartfelt stare, and while he didn't understand what she'd said, she had the general air of 'I'm waiting for you to give me a sign that you're alive and answer my question, so I can differentiate you from the wall behind you.'

He gathered up all his (limited) knowledge of little-kid actions and affected a slight tremor (hamming it up always seemed to please TD's) and nodded slightly, blinking his eyes a little more (but not too much, because that would be totally the wrong message; he was going for 'innocent and confused' and not 'seductive and object stuck in eye') while tilting his head.

She breathed a sigh, and slowly put a hand out. He eyed it rather dubiously (come on, she was a medic – for all he knew she wanted to get out a needle and blood-test his ass) for the amount of time he judged would feed into the part of a somewhat abused child.

Because, come on. 'Somewhat abused child' was practically his theme song during Hogwarts, so he should know how to play that right.

Okay, enough staring, now he had to take the hand.

Yup, any minute now.

... damn, he was really rusty on non-harmful human situations, wasn't he.

The woman's smile seemed more stretched as the moments passed, and she eventually let her hand fall awkwardly to her side (to his confused relief – what the hell happened to him?) and she seemed to make a decision. She pointed at her chest, and said clearly, "Maya."

Harry could only stare at her – apparently his total incomprehension was more noticeable than he realised. She repeated the word – obviously her name – and gestured to him.

This, he could manage. "Maya."

She raised her eyebrows.

She again pointed to herself, and said her name. She pointed again at Harry, and he repeated her name.

Childish? Hell yes. Did he care? Not particularly. 'Me Tarzan – you Jane' wasn't gonna work on _this_ six year-old (with 22 years of experience).

This loop continued a few more times, before she threw up her hands in a gesture Harry recognised all too well – it was what Molly Weasley done when faced with one of the Twin's repeated harmless pranks. He, rather understandably, could not contain a chuckle.

Rather unmanfully, it made contact with the world in a form that was clearly a childish giggle.

At lease this Maya woman seemed pleasantly surprised by this turn of events. She smiled a little and said some more incomprehensible words before standing up.

She gestured out the door.

Harry grinned, happy to correctly interpret this one, and chucked the scratchy blankets aside while carefully finding his feet. Maya looked down at him, shaking her head in a distinctly rueful way, before beckoning him out the door.

**•◊ΰ◊•**

The place was colourful – and really old fashioned. He hadn't seen any phones, or even power points yet (although, they may just be so strange in this place that he wouldn't be able to tell one from a chicken).

He'd been here – wherever _here_ was (he didn't know if Maya had mentioned the name, it would be the very first thing he'd ask when he _finally_ had an idea of how the hell to form a sentence) for roughly two weeks. So far, no language miracles were occurring. No magic solution for the gap (annoyingly enough) although he was starting to pick up odd words here and there, which he hoped (very, very much) meant that whatever kind of language skills he possessed were working overtime. God, he'd take six-year-old sponge learning if he had to, he wanted to be able to communicate!

So far, he'd had play the terribly silent, terribly unobtrusive little abuse victim, and he was up to his eyeballs in frustration.

He _wanted_ to have fun.

He _wanted_ to milk his appearance for all it was worth (and then keep milking) because, by God, if he was going to suffer all that pain under Vol-de-mole, he was damn well gonna take the perks where he could get 'em.

The only reason he was sticking to silence right now was that there was something distinctly... _wrong_ about the village.

He couldn't quite put his finger on it, and he acknowledged that he hadn't exactly been in a position to see much of it; he'd been busy obediently following Maya around, and she was still the only person that had really tried to talk to him, or seemed at all interested in him, but there was something _absent_ from the village that shouldn't be, or some kind of weird vibe he got from it, that told him it would be an entirely bad idea to misstep in some way at the moment.

Sometimes, at night, he got the feeling that he was being watched. Like, bug-under-a-microscope _watched_, and it was really starting to be apparent that Maya had some issues of her own.

Sometimes, when she thought he was spaced out (a certain look he'd affected to seem more harmless, and he had the feeling that later it would come back to bite him in the ass because he'd be labelled mentally 'special') she got this really weird _look_ in her eyes.

There didn't seem to be rhyme or reason to what triggered it, and he didn't see it very much. It was different to the hiding an emotion (like anger) look she got when she caught glimpses of the very obvious, although microscopic) marks that ran around his heart.

And Merlin had _that_ been a shock; when the hell had they managed to graft those runes on him? And _why_ leave them visible? Most of their work disappeared a time after application, as it integrated into whatever the hell matrix they had worked him through for whatever they were to accomplish – probably, in hindsight, making him their ultimate child-soldier or something along those lines – Voldy hadn't expected his to remember anything, after all.

Bah. Shitty morbid thoughts were all he was left with because he _couldn't understand a fucking thing_. There was something _strange_ about this village, and someone _watching_ him, and he didn't know why or where he was or what the hell had happened to London, or Hogwarts, or _anything_.

He would learn this language.

And _then_ he would get to the bottom of all of this.

Or his name wasn't Harry-Bloody-Potter!

**•◊ΰ◊•**

**A/N: **I hope you like the new bits - I am going to flesh out how Harry acclimatises to the new situation - before, I skipped it because no dialogue? Freaking hard to write! Hopefully I've managed well enough to dodge that bullet by accessing Harry's sarcastic running commentary on things - but I cannot wait to have actual conversations again so writing is easier.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

•◊**ΰ◊•**

_~When everything seems to be going well, you have obviously overlooked something~_

_Outpost of Konohagakure no Sato__; _six months later

"He's a little brat, isn't he?" The tone of voice was soft, almost fond, and conflicted with the somewhat harsh words spoken.

The tall dark-haired man that had spoken shifted the senbon that dangled precariously in his lips as the corner of his mouth quirked up into a lop-sided grin. He was stood on a roof-top that looked over the main street of the village – not that it really resembled one, seeing as the majority of civilians had been evacuated away from the borders and only the people who were necessary for the health of crops and other such production stayed around.

The kunoichi next to him didn't acknowledge his words as her eyes were fixed upon the commotion below them.

What was no doubt the whole of the civilian population still in the village were in a mob and chasing after a tiny black-haired, green-eyed child that was laughing manically at them while running as fast as his little legs could take him – which, having been started on some make-shift self-defence and chakra-control lessons as was the requirement for all the civilians still occupying the outpost – was _quite_ fast.

Really, Kazuki had been (and still was, if he was being honest with himself) surprised at the kid's unnatural aptitude for the shinobi arts, especially when it came to accessing and utilising chakra. He was planning on having the kid go to Konoha and get enrolled with the next bunch of academy students when the next genin team came by the outpost – it would be a true waste of talent and Konoha's loss should it not be utilised.

The thing that had attracted his comment was not, in fact, the mob running after the gaki but the fact that every single member was bald.

Yes, bald. It wasn't hard to put two and two together and discover that the gaki had shaved all the men's hair off – even any facial hair that he seemed to recall many of them had sported, along with their eyebrows.

He snorted to himself. At least none of his subordinates were in that mob; he didn't know if he could stand the embarrassment of having a child with barely two months worth of training get one over a ninja.

Kazuki found himself slightly curious as to _how_ the gaki had done it, but as he spotted a development on the street below he sighed and formed a one-handed seal.

He appeared in a puff of smoke and snagged the back of the gaki's collar, hoisting him up off the ground. "Just what have they ever done to you, gaki?" He drawled in a weary tone. It seemed that every time he turned around he caught the kid with his fingers in some kind of trouble.

The kid's legs pumped uselessly for a moment as he apparently made a bid for freedom before he seemed to realise his predicament and craned his neck back so he could look at the jounin.

Kazuki inwardly was torn between amusement and a kind of resigned apathy as the kid looked up at him with those big green eyes and he mentally drew a comparison between the child and a kitten… or maybe a puppy. It beat him how he could look so utterly pathetic and (dare he say) _cute_ at the same time. He firmly believed it should be classified as a forbidden genjutsu – for it must involve _some_ kind of chakra use to be that effective.

He shoved his thoughts away and shot the gaki a flat look that just oozed 'd'you think I'd actually fall for that?' and gave him a little shake – not anything that would harm him of course.

The shake did its job and the puppy-dog look dissolved into a scowl/pout and he crossed his arms. "But Kazuki-niisan! They deserved it!"

Fine, so _maybe_ he had a soft-spot for the little terror as well.

Kazuki rolled his eyes. "And just what did they do to deserve the loss of all their hair?"

The kid blinked and spluttered "They – they…!" his arms waved around as he stumbled for an explanation.

Kazuki waited slightly impatiently in the silence before he deadpanned "you've got nothing, huh?"

The child's silence was answer enough.

"Yeah" he said, vindicated. "Well, I'm afraid you're gonna have ta come with me. I think I know… _something_ you can do that will make it up to all those people."

He took pleasure in the shudder that ran down the brat's spine – he still had it.

It took him a few minutes' fast talking to dissuade the mob from… well, _mobbing_ the kid. It still kind of shocked him just how far the kid had managed to wiggle into his… good books. He wasn't the type of person to protect someone from their own stupidity, but there he was standing between the youngest occupant of Kajiku village and the civilian population.

Of course, Hiro wouldn't be so smug when he saw what Kazuki had planned for him.

Maya had named the green-eyed menace 'Hiroshi' a few weeks after they had first found him when it became apparent the silent child would not offer his name – Kazuki was privately dubious over if the kid had even _had_ a name before the somewhat… _enthusiastic_ kunoichi had given him one. Of course, back then they had not known that he had a mischievous streak a mile wide and an imagination to match.

Hiroshi had suffered violent nightmares almost every night for well into the second month of his stay at Kajiku. He'd also not uttered a word, and mostly followed either Maya or himself around like a lost little puppy, his green eyes blank and helping out with whatever they happened to be doing at the time (if it was possible for him to help). He'd only started talking into the third month, and then in a soft and almost hesitant voice.

Of course, once he'd warmed up to them, he'd morphed into the hell-brat that he was now.

And Kazuki could admit, if only to himself, that he honestly preferred it that way.

He softly cuffed Hiro on the back of the head as he caught the gaki sticking his tongue out at the mob as they walked away.

"Brat."

•◊**ΰ◊•**

Obito Uchiha was bouncing. "…And this is soo awesome! Our first C-Rank mission! I can't believe that we _finally_ don't have to do those stupid D-Ranks anymore! Ne, Rin-chan, d'you think we'll have to fight any ninja? Well, do ya?"

Rin, a purple-haired girl with purple tattoos on her cheeks scowled at the hyper black-haired Uchiha and scolded, "Calm down Obito no baka! We're _genin_ now, we've gotta be more professional!"

Obito adjusted his orange goggles sheepishly before he zeroed in on his other, more experienced, peer; "Ne, Kakashi? D'you think we'll see any ninja? I'll help you if ya need it! Heh, you need to loosen up a bit, old man!"

Hatake Kakashi scowled and sped up, dismissing what he saw as irrelevant chatter from his obviously deficient teammate and stated coldly, "I was a genin at 5yrs old and chuunin at six. I have been an active shinobi for four years, and I have no business being on a team with _children_ such as you. Being a shinobi is a serious profession, and since you obviously are incapable of comprehending this, I'll give you a warning: stay out of my way."

Namikaze Minato grimaced slightly at the twin hurt looks his two genin sported from the cold words of their chunin teammate and quickly moved to interrupt the argument that was no doubt brewing. "Ma ma, Kakashi; Obito-kun and Rin-chan are your teammates. You shouldn't underestimate them – after all, we're all Konoha ninja here, right?"

Minato grinned down at his silver-haired recruit but was blown off with a flat stare and huff. The newly made jounin-sensei rubbed the back of his head, offering a slightly-strained grin to the two genin left staring at the genius' back. "Well, Kakashi-kun is right in that we must follow orders seriously. Come on, this courier mission to the outpost _is_ very important. Be sure to keep a sharp eye."

Purple and Black heads nodded in tandem, and Minato discretely hid a smirk at how _cute_ the serious expressions they sported looked (as per the second rule of being a jounin-sensei: 'don't laugh at the gaki') and he motioned for them to speed up so they were going at a run aided by chakra.

"Ne, sensei."

Minato had been enjoying mentally comparing the… the very respected and scary kunoichi of Konoha for a while as they ran in comfortable silence (well, if you ignored the whispered barbs traded between his weirdo Uchiha and rule-obsessed Hatake) and blinked at the aforementioned Uchiha. "Hai?"

Through the orange goggles he could tell that his student wore a confused look. He seemed _finally_ ready to come out and ask the question that had been bugging him since they'd received the mission from the Sandaime, and Minato silently cheered that he'd finally stop twitching – it was _annoying_, but he'd learnt by now it was easier for all involved if he didn't acknowledge Obito's lack of knowledge because otherwise he'd _never_ hear the question. Minato _knew_ it was a disease caught by all Uchiha – after all, he'd been on a team with one of 'em and knew by now there were certain things explainable by the statement 'he/she/it's an Uchiha' and it was better for all involved to accept that and get over it.

Obito screwed his face up and his eyes darted to Minato's pocket and asked, "Is this mission _really_ that important? B-because, I mean it's just delivering stuff, right? And the only difference between this and a D-Rank is the distance, and even then its only gonna take us today to get there and tomorrow to get back!"

Kakashi scoffed _loudly_ from his position a few meters in front of the Uchiha and all on Team Minato could hear the "_Baka_" insult that slid from his tongue scornfully. The blonde jounin once again stifled a sigh (they had to grow up _sometime_, right?) and shot a warning glare laced with a bit of Killing Intent (or really 'Annoyed Intent', considering the difference between wanting to kill someone and being mildly irritated at your team's childish infighting) before he refocused on the puzzled visage of the resident Uchiha.

Obito seemed genuinely curious as to the answer, and though it was beyond Minato how the Uchiha hadn't grasped the importance of the mission he went about correcting his genin's ignorance. "This mission is your first C-Rank, but even so is of more importance then would have usually been given to recruits as fresh as you and Rin, Obito."

Obito looked a little unsure (although proud his mission was important) as Minato used this as an excuse to really hammer home to the green genin the importance of any mission while addressing the question. "We are delivering orders and reports on the War to keep the jounin-in-charge of the outpost; in this case a shinobi by the name of Kazuki Masatane. This correspondence is vital to the war effort; if one outpost is disconnected we need to know, as well as the number of enemy and information that is gained through stealth that gathers at the borders – in this case, we also have additional orders to collect a future recruit for the academy and deliver him safely to Konoha – Kazuki-san has reported him a promising addition to our forces in a couple of years."

Minato was pleased at the expression of enlightenment that graced the Uchiha's face; it meant the last half-hour or so travel could be spent in blessed peace.

"Eh?"

Damn it. "What is it, Rin-chan?" Minato turned to face his shocked purple-haired student, peripherally noticing that Kakashi also seemed somewhat surprised. What had he said that surprised them?

"You said… a recruit?"

Aa. Oops. Minato ran a hand through his hair sheepishly. He wanted to avoid explaining it by just springing it on them. Team Minato and children… well, they hadn't been requested or assigned to baby-sitting since Kakashi had… well. It was better left unsaid. "Hai. It's actually a common practise – civilians staying at the outposts are given minimal training so they have at least a chance of defending themselves, and every once in a while a talent is found and Konoha ensures their entrance to the academy. Scouting is done in peace times as well – that's actually how I got into the program – but it's more important when we need all the hands we can get." And yes, he _did_ intentionally misinterpret it. And that wasn't childish in any way what-so-ever. So nya.

Kakashi's horrified eyes were still fixed on Minato's face, and by that the jounin ascertained that the young chunin _hadn't_ been distracted from the fact that Team Minato – _Team. Minato –_was going to play pony to a pre-academy kid. For however long it took them to get back to Konoha.

Since Minato was a manly, mature, accomplished jounin he didn't trade commiserating looks with his nine-year-old chunin kohai. It was a near thing, but he managed it with nary a twitch. The sunny smile he shot at the silver-haired gaki had absolutely nothing to do with the hell the brat put him through when he was a fresh genin at five and Sarutobi blackmailed him into training the Hatake in his free time… he'd given up _free time _for the ungrateful brat!

Minato mentally coughed and moved on. "Well, hurry up team! We'll be there soon."

•◊**ΰ◊•**

Minato noticed that only he and Kakashi were relatively fresh when they arrived at the Kajiku Village outpost, which was to be expected really. Rin and Obito had only been genin for three months, and though he'd pushed their training as far as he could they still didn't have the instinct for properly circulating chakra and using it to enhance movement over such distances.

They all noticed something… strange, even before they could catch a glimpse of the village.

"It's too quiet here." Rin's hesitant voice cut through the almost weighted silence, and Minato's lips pursed as something in his stomach _clenched_. Yes, something was wrong here.

"Stay close, weapons out." He ordered crisply, all traces of good-humour gone under a wash of paranoia and caution natural to all veteran shinobi of his rank.

They fell silently into position, and Minato scanned the dense forest on the sides of their dirt road before signalling them to move forward. He held himself poised to _act_ on the slightest threat as they moved forward like ghosts, not disturbing the road or space around them.

A few minutes they held tense. The road was coming up to a bend, where he _knew_ should get them in seeing distance of the outpost – at least backup should be on hand if there were enemies in the tree-line.

Obito and Rin were white, and Kakashi wasn't that far off. Minato's lips were stretched into a grim line – the best place for ambush was only a few steps in front of them, but he could not spot a trap.

Two steps, One. He paused, stretching his senses to limit and still coming back with nothing – other than the unnatural silence that denoted the presence of malevolent inclination.

A silent release of breath as he steeled himself to step around the corner.

The shocked gasps and heavy inhale behind him echoed what he was going through at the sight he was met with.

Rubble, a relative wave of rocks and debris strewn violently around; trees splintered and collapsed and buildings roofs ripped off. Kajiku Village, he knew.

"Shit."

•◊**ΰ◊•**

_A/N: So, in the interests of truth and all the people that offered to email me the chapters I'd completely lost during the deletion of this story (that, as far as I believe, happened because of my previous summary: "_Rule of thumb for Harry Potter: Shit happens. Excessively_." Honestly, "shit" is __not a swear word__ in Australia, cut me a break!) I need to admit that I am reposting this chapter exactly as it was. Because I am really, really, bloody stuck. With any luck, this will help move me past it. If not, at least those deprived will get something to chew on. _


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

•◊**ΰ◊•**

_Death is more universal than life; everyone dies, but not everyone lives~_

"Mean… nasty… _evil_." A young boy was grumbling quietly to himself as he laboured under the scorching Fire Country sun.

Harry – or Hiroshi, as it was now – decided, as the sun burned the tender skin on the back of his neck, his arms doing a very convincing job of imitating lead, and his back ached, that his chosen aniki was a sadistic, evil person deserving of becoming victim to the worstest prank that he'd ever come up with ever… or he _would_ be, since Hiro hadn't exactly gotten around to thinking up something that could possibly be evil enough.

It _had_ to involve a shovel though; ironical justice, he'd call it!

Well… perhaps he should actually go into the reason _why_ he needed to get revenge in the first place, ne? Well… you see, there was this disagreement. Yeah, disagreement! The word was most definitely disagreement.

Ahem. So, yeah, he'd had a disagreement with Kazuki-niisan. Why, you may ask? Well, it was mostly (in Hiroshi's humble opinion) over an issue most trivial, and totally not worth mobbing someone over.

_Unfortunately_, the town's folk apparently _liked_ their facial hair very much and Hiro was honestly unsure why. _He'd_ just been helping them. They always brushed hair out of their eyes, and had to waste good hot water cleaning it properly, so Hiro didn't rightly know _why_ they contested his… little sojourn into the wonderful world of hairdressing. He'd done quite well, if he did say so himself (which he _did_) and he didn't even accidentally cut them! With no hair, they'd have more time to do stuff with!

…well fine. So he'd pranked them. But Kazuki-niisan turned around and thought up the most sadistic, evil, mad, evil and sadistic punishment yet – Digging. Holes.

Yup. Digging holes. And it's totally way harder than you're thinking, since its summer in Fire Country and if you didn't catch it from the name, _Summer_ in _Fire_ Country is freaking hot! It was all muggy and his shirt and shorts were sticking and his arms hurt (he'd been at it for _hours) _and the back of his neck _had_ to be burned. Hiro was pretty sure Kazuki had mentioned using the holes as traps for his ninja stuff, but he'd been too busy being horrified to pay attention.

"Am I done yet?" He whined. Well, not 'whined', because he'd totally not done that in Lucy's basement for Voldie-pants and he'd totally never do it cos of shovelling dirt. Nope, never.

Kazuki, from where he was inclined on the branch of a tree sipping from a glass and basically _taunting_ him with his non-digging state, snorted. "Not nearly done yet, gaki. You're gonna dig a hole for every bald head in the village."

"…" Hiroshi let his horrified face speak for itself, since he wasn't exactly in the right frame of mind to form coherent sentences.

"…But Nakamura-san is bald, and he was that way _before_! So I don't have to dig a hole for him!" He demanded loudly. Stupid evil jounins.

"Suck it up." Kazuki took another mocking sip of his drink through the twirly straw, and Hiro's gaze drifted to the dusty shovel in his hands calculatingly.

"AND if you throw the shovel, it'll only add another hole to your quota!"

"YOU SUCK!" Hiro pouted, shooting a glare up at his evil adoptive brother before glancing sulkily down at his newest hole and pushing the shovel in more viciously.

There was silence for a while, apart from Hiro's muttered curses at Kazuki for the gross miscarriage of justice ("This is my outpost, gaki! My town my rules!") and the big yellow orb in the sky arched and inched towards the horizon.

"KAZUKI MASATANE!" A screeched voice cut through the quiet, and said lounging jounin started and toppled off his lofty perch.

Hiro laughed. Loudly.

"I-it's not what it looks like!"

Maya cocked a brow and put her hands on her hips, staring him down. "And _what_, pray tell, does it look like, Ka-zu-ki-_sama_?" She stressed the title, making it emphasised and heavily sarcastic.

It was Kazuki's turn to do an impression of a deer caught in headlights. "I-I had to supervise Hiroshi's punishment." It was a statement, but it sounded tentative enough to be mistaken for a question, not really helping his believability level.

"Really." Her voice was flat. "So you _weren't_ taunting him and making fun of him just now, huh?"

"Well… ok, so I _was_, but I needed to make sure the gaki didn't run off!"

"You're proud of yourself for thinking that up, huh?"

"Yess! –Er, I mean 'no', because that's clearly what I was doing. Any seemingly unnecessary stuff was to discourage him from attempting something like this again."

Maya gave him a Look before turning to the little black haired boy snickering into his hands. "And just _what_ did I hear about you picking on the workers again, Hi-ro-shi?"

Her voice was sugary-sweet, and Maya pursed her lips, giving the now wide-eyed boy her best Look.

"E-E-…Mou! No fair neesan! You're scary!"

Maya suppressed her reaction to Hiro's frankly adorable stuttering in the face of her disapproval and crossed her arms over her chest. "As far as I am concerned, this punishment _was_ warranted, even though certain individuals could have conducted themselves in a manner more befitting of their station… and age."

Kazuki seemed affronted at the sideways jab at his maturity, and Hiro decided – yet again – that these were the best adults he'd ever known in his life and that being caught by Voldie was acceptable since it had led to his meeting them.

He met Maya's eyes – _Maya_, who had held him when the memories from his time in Riddle's clutches had crept up and twisted into his nightmares, comforting him more than any other person had even thought to offer – and smiled, his face lighting up with its sincerity.

It was in that moment that an explosion rocked the village, the noise crashing against his eardrums and shrapnel flying and bringing down more buildings, the noise reaching a fever pitch so that he couldn't even hear Maya shouting something to him.

Kazuki was gone in a second, his afterimage dispersing seconds before Hiro even knew that he'd gone. He was suddenly alone, and he realised Maya was gone as well.

He didn't think; _couldn't_ think as his legs automatically sent him sprinting towards the village – _his_ village, where there were shinobi attacking them in broad daylight, before the sun was even down.

Blood was rushing in his ears, and he saw another two explosions go off, this time more towards the outskirts of the village, his feet pounding against the dirt road.

A man appeared before him, wielding a bloody sword and a shark-like grin with blood in his hair and an _Iwa_ headband, scratched and dirty and all Hiro could think of was getting to Maya and Kazuki – he had to _help_ them, _protect_ them; never mind that they were strong and better trained than he could hope to be with his physical appearance and Hiro didn't think as the Rock ninja sprinted towards him with that bloody, bloody sword angled to lop off his head.

For the first time since ending up in Kajiku village, his emotions swelled – anger, _rage_ – how _dare_ they attack _his_ village?! Second nature dictated that roiling pool spiked and he flung a burst at the _invader_ that had the _distraction_ flung away from him, cracking loudly against the nearby building, blood sluggishly seeping from the head where it impacted with metal, eyes blank.

But Hiro didn't have _time_ to even spare a second glance – Kazuki and Maya _needed_ him and he continued on, shrapnel now flung away by invisible hands as it _got in the way_ and he _needed to keep moving_ because there was _fire_ and _rocks_ bursting from the ground, crashing and collapsing houses and _was that Jun-san, the nice guard_? He's not moving.

He turned a corner and _there_ was Maya, crouched over Kata-san with glowing green hands, concentration etched onto her face but he could see the woman wasn't breathing. Maya must have been distracted to miss his approach, and Hiro's eyes widened in horror as an Iwa ninja appeared _right there, behind her_ with a bloody kunai and it must have been _close, too close_ when Hiro's wordless shout was smothered by the sound of _another_ explosion, but that didn't matter because the attacker had already been thrown away, like he'd been launched from a slingshot, sinking into a boneless heap a few metres away, crushed from the pressure of Hiro's magic.

Maya's eyes lifted from the body of the ninja that had almost spelt her death and turned, it seemed as if to Hiro in slow motion to lock on his eyes, and she was _scared_. He could see, she looked at him like he was an alien, like she didn't know what he was before she blinked and the look vanished and she was _there_, her shinobi speed too fast for Hiro to track and she was hugging him, burying her face into his hair, "I told you to stay away, Hiro" she breathed, and Hiro felt something wet in his hair and realised she was crying, but there was nothing he would _do_ and they _couldn't_ stay still because there was still the sounds of fighting and another attacker would show up any moment.

She pulled back, staring at him, "And _what_ happened to you eyes? Blood limit…?" She didn't wait for an answer, and she was dragging him away from the flickering jounin that ran past them, and Hiro thought he caught a glance of Kazuki's senbon but they were gone, wind following in their wake and whipping around the two's clothing. "Hiroshi, I need you to come with me, and _stay_ where I put you, ok?"

Maya had picked him up at some point, and he was left to clutch tightly to her back as she bounded off the ground and above some rooftops, and Hiro had to clench his eyes against the devastation he could see and there was _someone_ lying under that rubble and he _thought_ he saw the leaf symbol but they were already gone, Maya racing down a narrow street and kicking down the door.

There wasn't time and Hiro couldn't follow her movements and there was a door that she was pushing him through "Stay here, Hiro. I… I don't know what we'd do if we lost you. And you and I, young man, are going to have words about those eyes after this mess is through, got it?"

He recognised the moment of levity, but he couldn't find any words so he jumped on her and hugged her like he'd never hugged anyone else. She hugged back, desperately and he whispered "Love you neesan" in her ear because it was _needed and he was all too aware_ that Konoha was losing the fight outside, outnumbered and taken by surprise and he _couldn't_ let himself think about that.

"Love you, Hiroshi. Take care of yourself." She whispered back, before a tremor close to them knocked furniture around and she looked up in alarm with a kunai suddenly _there_ and a grim look in her eyes that he _remembered_ and _didn't want to_ and she was gone, and he almost missed her last longing look back at him.

He stayed, although he didn't exactly know _why_ he did – it could probably be because his legs trembled, and his heart was pumping too fast and he felt _horrible – he knew, they were dead – _and they could be dead and he'd been lucky and taken them by surprise but he _didn't stand a chance_ so all he could do was this one thing for Maya, _Maya_, and the noise outside was dying off and he knew that was a bad thing.

An explosion went off, this time _too close_ and the walls around him shuddered and the back half was collapsing around him while he ran for the door but _something_ fell on him just when he _might_ have gotten free, and all he knew was pain as the world collapsed around him and he saw blurry, blood stained legs.

•◊**ΰ◊•**

_-skyflyte12, 19/3/10_

A/N – **Warning**: I have given up the ghost on editing these chapters, so I will be posting the stuff that's already written over the next few weeks. Hopefully, completely new things will follow. Also, someone mentioned that "sucks" might be interpreted to be a swear word, so I changed my intro. But, please, **tell** me that you all don't actually think it is!? Please? Because if it is seen as that, I'm wondering exactly how you'd take what us Aussie's call swearing… because I still feel like calling bullshit on 'shit', the reason behind this getting deleted in the first place... grrr

_-8/10/2012_

_P.A/N: No, Harry does not, will not, nor will he ever (over the course of this story) obtain the Sharingan. Read back over the first chapter - it's a warning system to show moulding of magical ability, not something that does anything. Needed to clear that up :) _

_P.P.A/N: Sigh, I need to stop with the retrospective notes, but I was asked about what the eye thing looked like. Ahem. For ease of description I'll say like the Al bhed's eyes in Final Fantasy X - google it if you don't know what I'm talking about - basically swirls in the eyes that don't do anything a normal eye doesn't. Originally I imagined differently, but I think there are so many stupid eye techniques going on in Naruto that I don't need to put in my own silly design. To reiterate my point above, they do not do anything. Although (**spolier**) the shinobi make the obvious connection..._


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

•◊ΰ◊•

_~People are never machines, even when they want to be. You have to start somewhere~_

Laying there, pinned under the crumpled remains of the shelter that Maya had forced him under, was one of Harry's deepest, darkest moments. He wasn't in the habit of actively reflecting on those months in which he toured the lowest possible depravities that human beings were capable of inflicting upon one another, and had managed to mostly lock it deep into his subconscious (damn any stupid healers that would have no doubt advised against his approach – they didn't know) while sloughing off and working through the chillingly persistent excess that had refused to be locked away within the depths of his soul, with the help of two people who were now most likely dead.

Most. Likely. Dead.

More like dead. Gone. Departed. A few more deaths to add to his lengthy list, to be attributed to the curse upon his person against all people who honestly became close to him – helped him in his path through life.

Dead.

He clenched his teeth, and pressed his forehead more firmly into the tiles beneath him, ignoring the dark red that was slowly dripping into his left eye, and more than aware of the sluggish tears that crept across his cheeks, nose and finally rested on the floor.

Harry didn't really care how long he lay like that, pinned down under the shell of a broken building, silent tears seeping from eyes that had thought to have forgotten the process, unable to see the sky or feel any wind licking his collapsed world.

His ears thundered with the noise of feet crunching on something, and for a moment he wished for an enemy, who would likely grant him a final, merciful release from his existence.

More feet joined the first, and after an undeterminable amount of time, Harry's world began shaking, shifting, peeled back piece by piece. Something shifted behind him, and he felt the strange grating of bones that he easily identified as belonging to a broken leg. Huh. He hadn't felt it.

There was an empty ringing through his head, and he felt disconnected, like he was viewing the world but not a part of it, he did not move as hands lowered to manipulate his form into the proper position to scoop him out of the cleared, enclosed space and out into the sun, which shone with a hollow light, giving sight to the destruction around him.

Sightless eyes gazed and Harry – for the young Hiroshi that he had been able to form out of two dead people's care was, for the moment, veiled and hidden within his mind, waiting to bring back feeling and life to his ragged, old and war torn soul – stared up at large blue eyes that gazed grimly down at him.

•◊ΰ◊•

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_A/N. I couldn't change this chapter. Also, thanks to the reviewer that pointed it out, but there was content I cut out of chapter 2 that was really important (making the story feel off) that I just found on my computer, and I've put it in at the **start of chapter 3**. It should clear up some plotty weirdness. Also, lotta angst - I don't actually like over-bearing angst in my stories either, but I think everybody experiences a bit of angst in low points, and softening this part would have cheapened this - I promise, Harry Potter won't be down for long, that's just not who he is._

NEW CONTENT IN CHAPTER 3 (for those who viewed before the 10th of October)

HAPPY BIRTHDAY NARUTO UZUMAKI (just because)


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

•◊**ΰ◊•**

_~One owes respect to the living. To the dead one owes only the truth~_

The world was silent. And he stared. Nothing was moving, nothing bright or light or filled him with much need to create movement in it. He felt... empty.

He had failed thirteen of his comrades and fellow shinobi – the five jounin, six chunin and two medics that had been directly under his command and operating out of the village. Kajiku village, one of the outlying outposts near Kusa, protecting them from incursive Iwa ninja, that had been getting more bold lately – but obviously much more bold than they had suspected, unfortunately.

He felt even worse that one of those deaths meant more to him than the others. But he supposed that there was no point damning himself for that – he figured, with the amount of blood loss caused by having his left leg chopped off at the knee, he'd be dead soon enough anyway.

A chuckle, soon turned into a strangled cough, bubbled out of his throat. A bit of dark humour never hurt anyone... especially when they were going to die soon anyway.

He knew exactly what would happen with their deaths – the Hokage had all the important information gathered under his command – he'd been able to ensure that, at least.

The satisfaction of being able to keep any important information from the invading ninja was a comfort, however cold, to him in his last moments.

Well, except for the fact that apparently it wasn't his time to bow out just yet. As luck would have it, the genin cell led by Namikaze Minato picked this one day to be early for their mission.

Kazuki, seeing the blonde ninja arrive, bringing movement and light with him like some kind of spiky-haired saviour, he chuckled. His eyes tracked to the sky, noting for the first time the red sunset. Saru always did say that Namikaze was saving his arrivals for the moments that counted. Guess he owed the Hokage a wad of ryo.

•◊**ΰ◊•**

"He's almost delirious, Minato-sensei." Rin said worriedly, hands flicking through the jutsu she'd learnt out of necessity for cauterisation – something that was a calling-card of Iwa ninja, she knew. They were fanatical in their efforts to cut the Leaf's working shinobi population, so she had seen and worked on victims like this before. Unfortunately.

Her sensei was leaning over the unknown jounin, trying to understand the slurred message the man was attempting to communicate. She couldn't hear it, but she knew it was unlikely to be anything she was authorised to know anyway. "Hold still, shinobi-san." Was the only warning she gave the two men before she went ahead and sealed his flesh together. Her sensei held the man down, and she heard the pained grunts the escaped from the man – she could only be thankful that she would not hear his screams in her nightmares. She had been working under fully qualified medical ninja as part of her training to be a valuable member of her team, and had been exposed to the devastating injuries that were caused by the war.

The smell of burning flesh was ignored, and Rin deactivated the jutsu in favour of getting out some numbing salves and others that would work to ward off disease and contamination.

She was carefully working the salve into the irritated flesh when her sensei stood up.

"Rin-chan, make sure that Kazuki-san is ready for transport – we have to get him back to Konoha as quickly as possible. I am going to join Kakashi and Obito in searching the area."

Rin silently nodded her comprehension, staying silent. Her sensei had spoken in the deadly serious tone that he barely used, so she knew to pay attention.

He moved to jump into the rubble, but paused. "Oh, and Rin-chan?"

Rin glanced up at her sensei's form briefly, showing her attention.

"Watch out for enemies hiding in the ruins. And Gamakoshi should ensure we have backup in a few hours, but do not be complacent – I'll send Obito over to guard you."

"Hai sensei." She nodded, and they both went to complete their separate tasks.

•◊**ΰ◊•**

They worked through the night, joined by three chunin cells two hours after their efforts to completely search the outpost for left over enemies, and later the remains of the civilian inhabitants and bodies of the enemy.

It was work that the ninja generally tried to keep genin away from – grizzly and morbid. There was no want to scar the younger generation prematurely. Unfortunately, that was proving to be more and more impossible as the third great shinobi war progressed.

Of course, nobody liked collecting the bodies.

Minato spotted a chunin baring the list of occupants of the outpost that was checking the names off and identifying each of the bodies and walked over, studiously avoiding looking too sharply at the faces of the still corpses. "How is the count?"

The flustered chunin looked up, and Minato tried to see if he recognised him in the shadows cast from the hastily set up lights around the clearing they had chosen to lay out the dead. "Almost all the civilians have been accounted for, although it is hard to distinguish some immediately because of fire damage. We have also discovered the bodies of fifteen Iwa ninja of as yet undetermined rank and skill that were left behind when they retreated. Our ninja are accounted for as well – we're almost ready to seal them all up and bring them to their families. It seems that none were taken by the Iwa invaders, and patterns of attack are congruent with what Kazuki-sama was able to report before losing consciousness."

"He would know the most about an attack on his village." Minato offered neutrally.

The chunin's eyes widened as he realised his comment, "N-not that I'm implying anything-"

Minato held up a hand commandingly, "Who are we looking for?"

The chunin's eyes were wide but he took the jounin's lead and buried his head in the papers below him, "four civilian workers – Oshima Kazuko, Abe Taro, Suzuki Tetsuo and Yamada Hideo. There is also a mention of one other person, a young boy that had been found by a patrol a few months ago – the only name here for him is 'Hiroshi'."

"What? A boy?" Minato's eyes widened as he recalled the secondary reason for their visit to the outpost – they were to collect a pre-academy student.

He cursed mentally and grabbed the attention of one of the chunin that were in charge of writing up a report of the damages, "Search for one boy, approximately six years old – drop everything else until he is found!"

"Hai!"

•◊**ΰ◊•**

"How hard can it be to find a _six year old_?" Minato growled to himself under his breath. They'd been searching for hours and nothing had turned up yet. "You'd think it would be _simple_ to find a panicking kid!' He continued, running a hand through his crumpled hair, not quite able to hold in his distress. _This_ was what he hated about being a ninja – being _responsible_ for recovering _people_, being responsible for helping people – there was a _child_ out there, probably panicked and lost and definitely alone. He _refused_ to think of a scenario where there was a body to be found, lost underneath one of the collapsed buildings. They couldn't clear them very fast, because if there was just _one_ wrong move, it could cause the collapse of many structures, and possibly crushing any people left stuck underneath. He made sure the chunin working on them were doubly careful now, with the unknown status of the boy – Kazuki hadn't returned to conscious after his collapse, caused by his refusal to be shifted back to Konoha before everybody was accounted for. While Minato found this an admirable trait in a commander, he was pissed that the man he had respected for years was inhibiting his own recovery – he was very much still in a grey zone where that was concerned.

Movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he couldn't help the pause at seeing the object of his thoughts shift. Shaking his head, he quickly moved to the man's side, grateful for the chance to be helpful to _somebody_ that needed it.

"...Water..." The jounin croaked, and Minato pulled off his hip flask to dribble some into the man's mouth, carefully supporting his head.

When Kazuki was finished, he settled the man's head back down on the make-shift pillow, reluctant to move him any further. Rin was sleeping curled up not too far away from their position, the stress and activity of the night coupled with the adrenaline rush she had experienced hours before, it was no wonder. He knew Obito was also sleeping, although sprawled out under watch further away. Kakashi would no doubt crash sometime soon, although Minato had learnt not to underestimate the kid's determination to match up to shinobi much older than him – although Minato felt there was really no need for him to do that, after all everyone should learn to accept their body's limitations. He was simply too young, although Minato accepted that he was mentally able to match and even exceed shinobi twice his age.

He was drawn back to the present by a clicking sound. "Yo Mina-kun! Pay 'tension here."

Minato decided that just this _one_ time he could ignore that dreaded nickname. "You shouldn't move about too much, Kazuki – you could pull something."

The jounin snorted and started patting down his pockets absentmindedly, "Don't think there's much more damage to take, kid. Anyway – where's the kid?"

Minato spent a moment deciphering the guy's drawl and then another trying to figure out _what_ he was talking about, "...huh?"

Sharp grey eyes met his and he felt like the stupid academy kid that broke the jounin's window after almost killing his cat again. So much for time breeds maturity.

"You know, the kid – Hiroshi. Saru sent you guys to bring him back to Konoha, right? You _are_ keeping an eye on the kid right?"

Minato frowned worriedly, his concern flooding back worse than ever, "We haven't found him – do you know where he is?"

"W-WHAT?" The man shouted, abandoning his search in favour of focusing suddenly furious eyes on the blonde man.

"Do you know where he is?" Minato asked urgently, ignoring for now the man's own unspoken accusation.

Kazuki's nostrils flared, the tension settled on a knife's edge as he stared into the young jounin's eyes as he wrestled with himself between violence and compliance.

He growled, before shaking off his anger – there was nothing to be gained in being angry at Minato for not taking care of his brat, but on the other road lay his recovery. "We left him barely thirty metres away from town, south-west side – we'd heard the first explosions go off in the village and ordered him to stay there, hidden from view."

"He wasn't there – we've searched the perimeter thoroughly." Minato spoke fast, clenching his hands.

Kazuki's eyes widened and his face lost three shades of colour, "Not. There..?"

"No." Minato growled in frustration, tugging on his hair. "Do you have _any_ idea where he would have gone if he didn't stay there?"

Not even a second's thought had the seasoned jounin cursing up a foul blue streak. Minato stared, unaccustomed to the unnaturally laid-back man being so animated and affected by something. That Hiroshi must _really_ mean something to the old man, because Minato couldn't remember Kazuki being this visibly distressed over the disappearance of his teammate all those years ago. He was the type that got scary silent and still, completely analytical and removed. "What is it?"

Kazuki growled again, "The stupid brat probably ran in right after us! How the hell that _kid_ could hope to possibly survive... _fuck_!" He started to rise, damn his missing limb and damn everything else. Minato stopped him, grabbing the lapels of his flak jacket and shoving him down.

"You'll just hurt yourself moving, Kazuki! Tell me – _where_ would he have gone?" Minato got right up close, forcing the man into stillness. Minato was shaken by the desperate glint to the man's eyes, could feel the man's quick breath against his face, his chest heaving in panic.

"The stupid brat would have followed me or Maya – whichever he saw first. Probably Maya, since I know I saw Kuroki on the way to the main battle. Find Maya, and you might find the little brat."

Minato's chest lurched for the man at the mention of Maya, but he knew to leave it alone. The shinobi path was usually not one filled with happiness, unfortunately, and a fresh wound was one best left to settle.

"I'll radio them to check that area." Minato said, carefully avoiding certain words.

"Find him, Minato."

•◊**ΰ◊•**

"We found him!" Was the exclamation that Minato thanked whoever might be listening for. He seriously _did not_ want to be the one to tell _Kazuki Masatane_ that he had failed to find the kid – quite apart from his own sense of duty and right in the world, he didn't think he'd survive such a conversation, as close to the edge as the man was at the moment.

He was now worried about the state the kid would be in when he was dug out from underneath the heavy roof panels and partial wall that had collapsed upon him. It was already evident that part of it had to be laid across his leg, pointing towards a severe fracture.

That the kid had been completely still and silent, despite his injuries and the tiny space he was trapped into both awed and frustrated Minato at turns – he doubted that even _he_ would be able to remain so silent had he been suffering the same fate, but that the kid was able to silently withstand such punishment meant that they _did not find him_ until they'd practically combed through the area. Had he been moving, or crying out, he'd have been found hours ago.

As it was, the young Hiroshi had been stuck under that junk for close on eleven hours now.

Minato was incredibly concerned at the boy's health – both physical and mental – after this ordeal. They'd have to have someone evaluate him for fitness for the academy, although Minato couldn't deny that such traits would have him blitzing the academy in Konoha should he be approved – oh, and if he still wanted to become a ninja after this experience.

"Can we get him out yet?" He demanded of the chunin that just managed to lift off the largest obstruction, the one that was pressing on the kid's leg.

The man grimaced, no doubt sick of the jounin demanding that after every removed object. It wasn't Minato's fault he wasn't good at that stupid game 'pick-up sticks' and thus failed in the art of clean-up after demolition. Ever since that incident at the academy, he had been firmly told to remove himself from such situations. "As long as you use chakra to counter-act your weight depressing on the ruins, you should be able to lift the kid outta there. I just gotta warn you – he's non-responsive, didn't even squeak when we lifted that shit off his leg. That kid's either got balls of steal or's off his rocker – won't know which till we see how he is when he starts talkin'."

Minato studiously ignored that last bit, and even politely pretended he didn't hear the follow-up mutter of "he'd make a top shinobi either way" and practically charged into the ruins.

Following orders, he watched his feet and was quickly looking at the boy.

He was a tiny, frail looking thing – his face was pressed against the ground, and he looked like he could be a part of their morbid line-up outside the village were it not for the slight movement of his exhale and inhale. Minato reached down carefully, worried about the leg that was sticking out at an obviously wrong angle, and picked the kid up.

His head lolled forward, unsupported by the boy in his arms, and Minato was worried about how damn light the kid was – it couldn't be healthy.

He decided to forego further examination until he got the kid away from the rubble and walked back out, adjusting his chakra output as needed to keep them both from disrupting the ruins.

The chunin fluttered around him, the one medic that came with them there as well demanding that he turn the poor kid over for fixing up, but Minato ignored them temporarily – he needed to see substantial evidence of the kid's life – that the kid was functioning and most importantly _alive_.

He carefully placed the child on the ground, worried that he hadn't moved an inch by himself.

Absentmindedly swatting away the medic for the moment he first checked the kid's pulse – slow, but there – and moved to pinch his cheek lightly in the hopes of gaining a reaction. It didn't work.

At a loss for any other way to gain the kid's attention short of moving him in any way that could irritate his leg – or any unseen wounds – he spoke, "Hey, wake up kid – you're safe."

Which pretty much got the reaction he expected – that being, none.

Refraining from growling in frustration, he clicked his fingers in front of the kid's face, imitating Kazuki's favoured method on the assumption that if the seasoned jounin felt so strongly for Hiroshi, that the kid would have no doubt been used to his annoying habits. "Come on kid, wake up! I'm the one whose gotta tell Kazuki how you are!"

Minato couldn't help but wonder how he could find a pair of eyes more striking than those of the sharingan in a no-name kid.

•◊**ΰ◊•**


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

•◊**ΰ◊•**

_~In victory one does not understand the horror of war. It is only in the cold chill of defeat that it is brought home to you~_

Everything had been packed away, sealed up into scrolls, the ruins combed over with a professional eye and any written evidence found promptly destroyed. Information retrieved from hidden deposits, and vicious traps set into the ground for any enemy that would wish to take advantage of the shelter to be offered by the broken buildings.

The morning air cut against their skin, breaths frosting out in front of grim faces, their eyes darting for unseen enemies. The shells of the ravaged buildings stood as silent sentinels in the dawn light, forbidding any talk between the Konoha troops, hushing their footsteps and restricting any careless movement.

By unspoken consensus they paused, bearing silent witness to the scene, before picking up the survivors – only two of a total of ninety-eight – in stretchers the medical nin had brought as a matter of course.

They departed.

•◊**ΰ◊•**

The trip required the sedation of the jounin Kazuki and the child Hiroshi to avoid any undue stress on their injuries, although in the case of the jounin it was more because he had not rested the night before, too focused on the child's wellbeing to have seen to his own needs.

Minato led them carefully back into Konoha, sending one of the chuunin off to inform the Hokage of their return, another to secure the documents and the rest to check in the scrolls containing the casualties of the attack and send the bodies of the invaders for ANBU division's analysis. His genin went to the required debriefing building; a temporary set up deemed a necessity for the mental health of the fresh recruits – Minato himself was uncomfortable with the idea of psychologists, but he was grateful that his students were being taken care of in this manner.

Fortunately, this was a case of 'do as I say not as I do' – he himself was not required to attend more than the half-yearly sanity and loyalty assessments because of the amount of classified missions and information he had access to. He kind of dreaded the (slowly approaching) day that Kakashi completed enough classified missions to qualify for this courtesy as well, because he knew better than anyone of how emotionally crippled the young boy had been by the suicide of his father, and he could appreciate how they had the capacity to help him work through some issues.

He was only thinking about this because he did not particularly want to think about the situation that he had found himself in at this very moment.

He was in the hospital, under the gaze of two of the most experienced shinobi that Konoha had to offer – Sarutobi Hiruzen (the _freaking_ Hokage!) and Kazuki Masatane (Minato had a sneaking suspicion that the man was the recently retired commander of the ANBU corps, but couldn't prove it) – and they were staring him down. Not a place where any recently promoted jounin wanted to be.

"Now, Minato-kun, do not look so afraid. We are merely asking for your observations." The Hokage chided.

Kazuki snorted, the senbon in his mouth bobbing with the movement, "You're always so diplomatic, Saru. You're allowed to say he looks like a deer facing a fire jutsu! He's got those big frozen eyes, it's hilarious."

The man was stretched out on a crisp white hospital bed, his infirmity hidden mercifully beneath the sheets, put away for the moment although Minato did not want to guess how the jounin was handling this development – the man himself looked relaxed, now that he was firmly set up across from the young boy that had survived the destruction of his post of command. He wasn't even attempting to hide the fact that his eyes kept darting over to the prostrate form, surveying the rise and fall of the small chest, tracing the bruises visible on his face and arms, lingering on the cast covering one leg.

Minato thought he looked like a man on a life raft – settled precariously atop of his ocean of worries, grasping to the one thing that was keeping him stable, the one thing that survived the 'ship wreak' of the destruction.

He kept this observation to himself.

"Fine!" He spoke with exasperation. "Although I don't know what else I can tell you. When I got him out, he was conscious for at least two minutes, his eyes were unfocused but I'm fairly sure that he was actually there, that it wasn't an unconscious reaction. He didn't respond to verbal stimulus further than the opening of his eyes. Apart from minimal body movement, that was all I got out of him before the medic nin swooped in and sedated him to fix up the compound fracture in his leg. Transportation went as well as we could hope, he didn't get jostled around too much and we hydrated him periodically throughout the trip."

The Hokage nodded, leaning back and reaching for something – Minato thought a pipe – but thinking better of it, moving his hands to trail around the brim of the hat of his station, which rested in his lap.

Kazuki's eyes once again darted over to the boy, and Minato kept his silence, wondering when they would kick him out so he could go and write up the official report for the mission.

"I must say Kazu, I am curious as to why you are so concerned with young Hiroshi."

The jounin removed his gaze from the boy and settled it on the Hokage, his gaze thoughtful. "Yare yare, you don't allow a man his secrets for long, Saru." He sighed through his nose, moving his eyes back to the boy, gaze turning pensive. "Hiroshi. How can I say this? It is… difficult to explain."

The Hokage raised one of his white eyebrows in a silent request for the man to continue and Minato suddenly hoped that they had forgotten his presence because shinobi were a naturally nosey lot, and this subject seemed to hold potential for valuable information. He himself was curious – he knew the jounin wasn't particularly fond of kids at all, most veteran ninja weren't simply because of overwrought nerves.

Kazuki rolled his eyes but continued. "You received my report of his appearance during an attack of the Iwa nin. I was just going to send him away somewhere, it didn't really matter where as long as he was well away from my outpost, but Maya convinced me to at least hold him until the little bugger woke up. You heard how he was – silent, following after me or that woman at all hours like a damn little puppy and I admit it… I was suckered into keeping him by Maya, though I know he shoulda been moved to a civilian village or even here with the next ninja that came to collect reports. I figured that the brat was silent enough and did what we told him to so he'd be fine around us, and there was always that possibility he'd be attacked on any run back to the village or make the team vulnerable because they'd have to protect him in an attack."

Here Kazuki paused, eyes glinting in recollection of something deeper, and Minato figured that there was something more to the arrangement, that something else had happened to keep the kid in the village that he didn't want to go in to.

The man shook his head after a moment, "Of course, that happened before we all saw the _real_ Hiro." He snorted, shaking his head in disbelief, "We'd had him for about a month and a half before he seemed to get comfortable, and boy were we in for a surprise. That nice, contained, silent and compliant puppy of a kid that we'd even named _Hiroshi_(1) suddenly seemed to wake up for the first time, and smile. We didn't even know that we'd taken in a demon." He shook his head.

"A… _demon_?" Minato couldn't stop himself, although he hoped that the slight squeak of his voice was a figment of his imagination.

The Hokage beside him was shaking slightly, although Minato could tell why, and Kazuki settled amused eyes on him, and Minato wondered if he'd missed the punch line.

"Ah yes… this would be about the time that I received the first report on the List, yes?" The Hokage asked, his eyes dancing in laughter and amusement.

Kazuki scowled, dragging a hand across the short stubble on his chin that he hadn't gotten a chance to shave off. "… That would be correct."

Minato was now completely lost, because the venerable Hokage was chuckling, leaning back in his chair and the jounin on the bed seemed to know why, but hell if he did. "…What?" He prompted, rather put out that he was missing something.

The Hokage's chuckles petered off and he glanced at Kazuki before turning to Minato. "The List. I fist encountered it while receiving an urgent transmission from Kazuki's outpost, that-"

"Aww, shut yer trap Saru and stop dancing around it, I'll tell 'im. Mina-kun, I had to… adjust some things in response to little Hiro-kun's 'awakening'. Namely, some laws and such that were unhelpful in the face of this. And unfortunately, some bugger got the idea that the Hokage needed to see _every_ change and/or addition to the village laws – either that, or the bastard thought old Saru could do wif' a laugh. Anyway, he sent the Hokage a few new ones we'd made to help curb that brat's more… demonic nature."

The Hokage snorted. "_Demonic_? Hardly. What was that first one, Kazu? Children of younger than twelve years are not allowed to associate with-"

"-goats, pigs and/or enfeebled donkeys. Yes, yes I _know, _Hokage-sama_. Shut up._"

The room was silent. Flies lazily buzzed about, a pin obligingly dropped from a noticeboard in the hall, and Minato's jaw didn't look like it would ever rise from the floor. He got the distinct impression that the two men had let him stay just to mastermind this conversation to see the look on his face. This granted him the strength to pick his jaw up off the floor, "…_What?"_

The Hokage snorted. "That's a fair approximation of my own reaction, although the ANBU in the rafters saw fit to swoop down to try and find out what jutsu someone had attached to the message that would cause me to choke on my own tongue. Kazuki, wasn't Hiroshi the _only_ person under your command that was in that age bracket?" He added innocently, turning back to the man.

Kazuki was not amused by the jab, but his face showed reluctant respect, "…He was."

•◊**ΰ◊•**

1. The name 'Hiroshi' means generous.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

•◊**ΰ◊•**

_~Remember, today is the tomorrow you were worried about yesterday~_

The way to make the most sense of the situation would be to think about it logically, Harry knew. Unfortunately, logic (and coincidentally the very world as he knew it) had flown out the window in a neat swirly-twirly-whirly pirouette precisely six months ago.

Give or take a month or two. ...He thought.

Bye-bye asshole Dork Lord, hello kickass ninja and, most importantly, two ninja in particular.

Stop, brain, about-face and go. He would avoid thinking of those two people in particular because that led to very familiar mental hamster-wheels of depressive spiralling, which would get him right back down to square nowhere. Sane this does not one make.

He sucked in air through his nose in an attempt to calm himself down. It didn't help, because for some reason he had twitched at the same time, setting off a burning sensation in his badly broken leg. Oh, he hadn't made it known he had returned to the land of the waking – he had locked down his limbs upon feeling that familiar dragging back to consciousness. He couldn't deal with whatever situation he was in at the moment. Couldn't face people.

He had the irrational (was it _really..._) urge to get the hell away from every single person – hide, sequester, lock himself away from any human contact or civilisation. Take his tainted presence from those around him – from those who would meet him in the future. He'd be doing them a favour. Most importantly, he'd be doing himself a bloody huge favour – no more having to hide away certain ingrained reactions, no more worrying about the intentions behind the actions of everyone around him – no more wondering who will be the next one to stab a knife in his back, like his first friends had!

There really was nothing for it. He'd see where the hell he was – it smelled like sick people and vinegar and felt like Death was near so chances were he'd somehow managed through his segue into the unconscious had resulted not in death, which he'd more than expected, but in the next step up – hospitalisation.

It was only a baby step, and whether his location was a step up was highly debatable to his mind, but the main issue here was that there may be people who expected conversation from him. Frankly, he would tell them to go fornicate with themselves, because he was in no way ready to have psychologists, therapists or 'well-meaning' nursing staff yakking at him when he stilled chocked over the very raw thought of... _them_.

Thus, logic had no freaking place anywhere near the festering wounds of his brain-box.

Now, all he had to do was that thing that he'd decided when he first arrive was stupidly suicidal and-

"I know you're up, gaki."

If it was possible, he felt his brain do that thing that cars do when you try to turn the key in the ignition but its run out of power – chchchchch...pshw. Whine, shut down. He was that car with the dead battery.

"Oi, don't tell me you finally re-learnt how to shut the hell up now, gaki."

He heard the scrape of a chair, and something wooden sounding hitting the floor a few times, moving in his direction. He felt the plastic hospital bed dip under added weight, and smelt like a person in need of a crash course in proper hygiene care.

"Gaki." The voice, deep and gentle, was scratchy and so very, very familiar.

A large hand settled over his forehead, the rough palm on his skin. The warmth that clung to the limb, in keeping with the dead battery metaphor, had roughly the same effect as a jumper cable properly connected would, and Harry's – or more to the point, _Hiro's_, who was always triggered with the proximity of Kazuki or Maya – battery went from negative three to one hundred percent without the interval in-between.

He was up like a shot, body acting independently of every thought he'd just had over the past few minutes, tiny arms latching leech-like around the body, tears unashamedly prickling in the corners of his eyes.

The body was solid, warm. Full of strength and vitality, touched but not taken by Death's hands, and he threw himself into the awkward embrace, burrowing into the person... _Kazuki, _someone he had thought irrevocably lost the instant before, white noise rushing in his ears.

•◊**ΰ◊•**

Kazuki, for his part, was unspeakably relieved that Hiro had _finally_ woken up. He'd initially refused and refuted any and all attempts to kick him out of the hospital – and continued to do so, even after they'd relented to requesting that he might go get his own meals, or leave the kid for the hour it would take to nip home and catch a shower.

While that may have sounded a reasonable concession to the hospital staff, (which in all honesty he had nothing against personally and would usually heed the advice of) his own paranoia dictated that the moment he left would inevitably be the moment Hiroshi woke up and flipped the fuck out.

The brat would no doubt do something momentously stupid if that happened – and the threat of this eventuality drove him to keep a sharp eye on the kid.

He was also clear-minded enough to recognise his own vested interest in the kid. He knew what observations Sarutobi, and to a lesser extent that rookie Namikaze had taken from their chat a few days ago – he would have been a ninja of lesser calibre to not recognise the beginnings of a stirring obsession in himself.

Recovering from such mental trauma (although he preferred not to think of it as such) was a well-organised process for him, much like it became for any jounin that lived long enough to discover the need for such a schedule – the old hands, the veterans.

Civilians could pick the most outlandish of examples straight off the street – that guy that had tamed a goat to imitate a nin-ken and insisted that it could do everything those Inuzuka hounds could and better besides (even as it took a chunk out of his flak jacket), and the kunoichi with the red and white streamers that spoke in third person and prayed to the almighty Waldo-sama at full volume. He couldn't really provide an insight into these cases – he was a shinobi, not a fucking psychologist.

'Go find a hobby' was the most simplistic way any ninja could explain it – class 101 of self-administered (ninja style) mental rehabilitation. The people that found hobbies and managed to survive them alongside missions became the backbone of the elite forces, and the ones that didn't... well, that was a no-brainer. The Hokage had the power to intervene in the prospective advancement of any and all ninja, so those that picked up the second type of hobby usually ended up stuck at chuunin, extending their life from a lack of high-end missions and minimising the possible damage they could do to Konoha's reputations.

Enough with other cases – his own hobby was a single-minded devotion to whoever happened to need it at the time. He was uncomfortable with self-evaluation, but he recognised his own wistful 'would have, should have, wasn't-'s' from his own childhood, disrupted by war, and he usually went out and found an apprentice, or just someone who need a bit of extra training to give them a bit of a leg-up on the ninja life – try to extend their time playing the game before the conclusion came.

He was unsurprised to find that the subject of this go around was Hiroshi – he'd become more attached to this kid than even Maya's kid brother, which was a feat – that brat had copied his own signature move of keeping a senbon clenched between his lips... although the actual senbon would come in the future, for now Gekkou-chan was stuck with ice-cream sticks and tooth picks.

Although he typically focused on chunin-level shinobi as apprentices, he would accept nothing less than having Hiro assigned to him. He'd (unconsciously, mostly) been arranging this for previous few months from his command position at Kajiku – the kid could, very technically, be classified as a conscripted genin under wartime rule, and a precedent had been set from the very beginning of the 'tricks and tips' that he'd been teaching Hiroshi – training that, again very _technically_, he'd been responsible to administer (although not directly) as part of his command was a duty to teach the civilians living there anything that may help them survive shinobi attack. Not that it had helped, the civilians or the ninja under his command.

A part of his mind payed attention to the shaking six year old clinging to him, providing him with as much comfort as he knew how to give, as the majority of his attention continued whirring through the calculations and people he would have to contact to place Hiro under his care. The technicality of Hiro being a Konoha genin would not be sufficient for the boy to remain in the shinobi forces, although there was no chance that he would be rejected and excommunicated from Konoha – that was a certainty.

There was, however, about a 15% chance that he would be executed simply to avoid the trouble and diversion of man-power that figuring out the bureaucratic nightmare of what _should_ be done with the young boy – he was an unknown and had been picked up during a skirmish with Iwa-nin – that he had a permanent scar from the encounter lowered the chances of this fact playing against him to 45%, but that he would be allowed into an orphanage was only at 6% probability – no one would want such a security risk near the future conscripted shinobi.

Hiro would not be left to his own devices – he would need a caretaker (10% rise of probability of execution) that had enough time and money to keep up a full-time watch on the boy to ensure that retaining him and investing further resources towards training him for the Konoha forces would be worth it.

Fortunately, the very reason that this obsession was hitting him so hard would also prove to be in the boy's favour – that Kazuki, respected and internally well-known jounin would volunteer his own time and training for this would raise the chance of Hiro being accepted into Konoha to be entered into the shinobi program at some point in the future raised to 75%.

However, he would have to get this past the few highly positioned councilmen that would deny this out of hand because they knew of his own tendency towards border-obsessive focus on training and dedication to his students on the basis that he may be compromised if the village changed its position on his student in some time in the future – people such as Danzo and Yukihana.

No sweat... *sigh*. He was in for a headache and a half in the coming weeks – he had a fight on his hands to keep this apprentice, and Kami help them if he lost it.

A mumbling voice brought him out of the introspection, and he removed one of his arms from the reassuring grip it had on the kid's shoulder to ruffle his hair affectionately. "What was that brat?"

The kid finally pulled himself away and swiped an arm over his bleary and tear-filled eyes. "y...You're alive?"

His voice cracked on the 'alive', and the word was whispered. It touched his blackened heart, and made him feel like a heel at the same time, anticipating what his news about his teammate would do to the brat. He wasn't exactly anywhere near what one would usually describe as sympathetic – his sympathy usually came in the form of sarcasm and the instruction to build a bridge, if that.

Although the upside to this was that they did now have quite a few extra bridges in Konoha from some of those painfully socially inept ninja that interpreted the words as an actual instruction, so that was a positive. Those bridges were in very scenic places and not required as infrastructure for the village, and were now used mostly as meeting spots for genin teams that jounin wanted to get the subtle hint about one thing or another relating to the interpretation of the Shinobi Rules. It inevitably didn't work, as they in turn forgot it was an in-joke among the jounin and ANBU, and that genin had no chance of knowing this.

Kazuki exhaled, firmly reaching down and grabbing hold of the child's chin and coaxed his head up from where it was fixed on the thin hospital sheets to make eye contact.

"Yes. I'm alive, Hiroshi." He said calmly, catching and holding the boy's attention. He could see something worrying flickering behind those green eyes, dark and the look of desperation that he knew all too well.

Considering the trauma that the fool kid had put himself through – running into a village under attack when not even officially accepted into the shinobi academy yet, honestly – heaped on top of whatever happened before he showed up at Kajiku, well it wasn't surprising.

Sad, hell yes. You'd have to be the head of the Interrogation department and under orders to not be sympathetic towards him to ignore that.

"...Maya...?" Hiro croaked, his eyes darting around the room.

Kazuki gritted his teeth slightly, pausing to prolong the breaking of that hope in the kid's eyes – he'd heard from Mina-kun what the kid had been like when he'd been pulled from the rubble, that he was almost completely non-responsive before being put into an induced coma. You could see the look in the eyes of genin that came back alone from a mission catastrophe, the orphans that clogged up the system, the partners that lost their other halves – the shinobi profession, their world was built around death. All ninja lived and died by the edge of a kunai, but it hit hardest in those that had not chosen the path, and those that carried on after the final act.

He waited until Hiroshi's pleading eyes finished their frantic search and latched back to his own steady gaze – well, as steady as he could keep it at any rate. He shook his head in the negative, not trusting his voice to the emission and knowing he had to stay strong for the child.

Maya was the root of the obsession with Hiro, he realised then, as he resumed simply holding the boy as he dissolved into silent tears and shaking shoulders, hunching into himself in despair. He'd observed, throughout the time they'd had Hiroshi at Kajiku, Maya managing to bring herself out of the self-destructive cycle she had been gradually falling into that he knew would not be solved – _could not_ be solved by any action he could take.

He had been standing witness, knowing that his final remaining teammate was on her last legs and would be ending her commission as a ninja the only alternative to losing a vital limb – in all honesty, it was the only honourable way to get out. A ninja of his own repute could survive the death of his career – he was valued more for his intelligence in a war room that in any physical effort he could provide in any case, and he didn't give two shits about what any fucker on the street said about him. Your average ninja, however, would be dramatically dishonoured by the inability to serve Konoha until their dying days, hobbled by disability and would turn to the bottom of a bottle or other similar pursuits. It was the usual way of things to join the Memorial Stone through honourable last actions to 'go out with a bang' or 'die as you live' – that kind of idea.

Maya had seen her kid brother in Hiroshi – the kid brother that she had consciously separated herself from through the long-term assignment to Kajiku, to avoid him bearing witness to her breakdown. Having the kid there, always three steps behind, watching her, relying on her... Hiro had given Maya a new lease on life.

Only for her original reason for taking the high risk border assignment to come to fruition, just when he had convinced her to rotate back for a few months.

That unhappy, morbidly ironic coincidence of fate was what he was raging against the most in all of this – yes, he felt extremely guilty for the death of those under his command, and blackly furious that Hiroshi had found himself in thick of the battles, but he did not – _could not_ – summon up what logic should dictate he should feel properly for those things. He did not feel guilty for those. Of course being a ninja, he was an old hand at feeling something (or not feeling, as the case may be) that commonsense would dictate was the proper emotional response.

Considering that when asked about their feelings most ninja would reply "feelings? What feelings?" he felt that he was a step above the pack. Konoha ninja always were, after all. Or at least they kept their crazy out of the word-of-mouth better. Or maybe it was just that in types of crazy, Konoha had the brand that civilians could accept the most.

Hn, something to think on.

He shifted slightly on the bed, the position he had sat down in becoming awkward to uphold around the positioning of the new prosthetic left limb, and the angle he was sitting at to have his arms loosely around the grieving kid.

The best he could do for the moment was focus on getting him back on the road to recovery – both emotionally and physically, as rather extensive physiotherapy was going to be required for the limb to continue working as well as was needed for his future, which would be bright and, most importantly, _long_ – if Masatane Kazuki had anything to say about it.

Kami and Shinigami save old Hiruzen if the monkey had anything to say about _that_.

•◊**ΰ◊•**

Harry knew he was far past the age when he could be told that everything was going to be okay and actually be able to _believe_ it as well. Words were those things that slipped and slid around the truth of a situation, and in his (vast, if he said so himself) experience the comforting ones did it the worst – a dagger hidden under the fuzzy blanket offered to placate the juvenile into following an old man's 'best' wishes. The Greater Good.

_Stuff_ Dumbledore's Greater Good. Up the old Goat's... er, he'd just not go there, for the retention of whatever measure of mental health he still retained.

...There mustn't be much left by now though, since he was checking his own thoughts through a method that sounded like two chattering caricatures should be perched on his shoulders wearing devil and angel costumes and sniping at each other over if he should follow the leprechaun's orders to set things on fire.

"Hiro. Focus on me for a moment, kid, we've gotta have a serious conversation for a tick."

Chewing on his lip and fiddling with a corner of the cast on his leg, he reluctantly dragged his eyes up to meet Kazuki's. It was a battle – his manly pride (although highly contested at this point surely) not allowing him to continue acting like a traumatised child. Because, _Merlin_, he fucking _wasn't_. He'd seen hell in Lucius' basement and it spat him back out. He really needed to stop being such a pansy – _pull yourself together, Potter_.

Kazuki narrowed his eyes for a moment, seemingly to really make sure he had Hiro's attention. "You have a few options to choose from at the moment, kid, and I think you need to hear them."

Harry held back from rolling his eyes – that was the most bloody obvious thing about the situation! "W-" he croaked, stopping to clear his throat before continuing "What are they?"

A drawn out sigh is his answer, and Kazuki runs fingers over his rather battered face, "There's a few, but the main thing you have to do is choose where you wanna go now – there's still the place set up from before, when you were going to be brought in for training at the academy. Thing is, since our situation has obviously changed, an option will be to stay with me-"

"I'll do that!" Harry blurted loudly, cutting off the rather too casually inserted option.

Kazuki's mouth kicks up at the corner, and Harry doesn't fool himself into believing the slight relaxation of his shoulders is anything other than relief – as if Hiro could possibly pick to stay anywhere else! _Maybe_ if he was asked by one of the doctors, without seeing Kazuki-nii he could have gone through with that downwards spiral of bad thoughts – you know, smother his emotions and become an emotionless douche bag with an aura of tragedy and general wasted chances.

Ah, fuck it – he knew better than that. Sirius had it _far_ worse than him – thirteen years in Azkaban, surrounded by Dementors after the death of all his closest friends bar one – compared to that, Harry had no leg to stand on. Sirius had handled the slight insanity rather gracefully, in his opinion.

"That's good, Hiroshi." Kazuki leaned in and ruffled the boy's hair, fingers scraping against some bandages there for no other purpose than to remind him that he was injured (at least, that was why Harry thought they were there).

"Agh, g'off Kazu-nii! You're too smelly!"

"... You have no room to talk, kid."

"I do _so! _At least _I _haven't had a chance to clean up yet, nii-san! I bet you were being slow and that's why you stink!" Hiro stuck out his tongue, falling naturally back into Hiroshi's persona and bickering with Kazuki. Hey, he was performing a public service – he bet the nurses were avoiding the room because of the jounin's stink. Okay, so he also wanted the man to go take care of himself, but this the fun, manly way to do it – only girls asked if guys were _okay._

Kazuki's face twisted and he mock-growled at Hiro's face. "_Kid. _Oh, _Kami and Shinigami_, I can't _believe_ I mistook you for something other than a brat for a moment there! _You...!_ Okay Kid, I'm gonna be gone for a bit, but when I come back I'll see about breaking you out."

Harry couldn't (and didn't try to) contain the grin spreading across his face. It seemed like nothing much had changed at all, which was just fine with him.

The jounin shook his head, but Harry could see the quirk of his lips as he rather shakily stood up, reaching for crutches that Harry hadn't noticed before then.

"You-?"

The man looked down at him, his eyes softening even as his face became serious. "I am me, and I am alive. That is all that matters, Hiroshi. I may not be in one piece anymore, but I will take my blessings as they come. Get some rest, and we'll get everything else figured out later."

Harry's hands tightened in the sheet serving as a comforter in the hospital bed as he watched his 'brother' (more like possible uncle figure, but Kazuki had threatened unspeakable torture should he be addressed like that) ungainly walk himself out of the room, the rather glaring absence of a leg shocking him into silence.

Well. It seemed like Kazuki outranked him on a scale of shitty experiences as well now. Not that he was compiling a list. For that would be rather crass of him, he guessed – although, one should 'take their blessings as they come' and be happy with what you've got.

Maybe if he kept up with the positive thinking, it'd be true?

•◊**ΰ◊•**

_~Screw the money, I have rules! Wait, lemme try that again...~_

Konoha, at a normal time, was...Hm.

No, let him try that again.

Ahem. Konoha, in a _normal_ time, was... okay, so there's _no such thing_ as a 'normal time' in Konoha.

He'd admit that, and he rather thought that was the natural way the world worked in Shinobi-time; three things happening simultaneously on a seesaw, good-and-bad swinging up and down from one moment to the next, rejoicing in the confusion and misinterpretations it brought about.

Now, Konoha in _wartime_ was the equivalent of about ten separate seesaws ridden simultaneously by hyperactive toddlers, and every time the thing swung one way or another, out in the world the tide of war mirrored that movement. No matter how many times he received 'absolute' information that 'couldn't be wrong', or created 'fool proof' plans, the information and situation would change so fast as to give him whiplash and leave him scrambling for separate attack plans.

Shinobi at war were a separate beast; where in peace time movements of power and visibility were absolute, war meant that the art of deception and slight-of-hand was most valued. After all, you couldn't pitch a wide-scale battle when your enemies were already in your village, or had cut off your supply lines and poisoned your water.

Kami and Shinigami, he was grateful for the gift of Tsunade and her medical skills at a time like this.

The Sannin were on the move, along with most of the higher ranks; his shinobi switching from front-to-front to keep strengths and a protective net around all of the villages; he had five generals working around the clock, the whole of ANBU intelligence armed and researching as well as most Konoha's elite out on missions so classified that there was no paperwork to be completed for them. Actually, that was just about one of the only upsides of war; the necessity of the absolute minimum of paperwork possible, although there were shinobi kept in the depths of his divisions secure with the information in case of the worst.

He tapped his pipe against the table before replacing it in his mouth, teething it a moment before inhaling. A knock sounded; "Enter."

"Hokage-sama." Hiruzen allowed a shadow of a sigh to escape him before he stood up, moving around the desk and past the man, already pulsing his chakra to order the ANBU to stay and guard. He nodded as he passed the man in acknowledgement nether the less, truly grateful for this reprieve.

The Hokage was a symbol of power. Especially in such a time as this; in war, being seen around the village was far more important than even in times of peace. A commander must know his troops, and while he definitely knew his senior and high placed shinobi made sure they knew the people under their command and that they funnelled all the relevant information to him and the office relegated to designating missions, he enjoyed – no, he had a compulsion – to get to know them to some extent personally.

After all, there was his seemingly never-ending search for a proper successor to consider.

Arriving out on the street, he was unsurprised at the familiar face awaiting him. "Kazuki."

"Saru-_sama_, what a sur-prize meetin' ya here!" The one-legged jounin practically sung, half-hopping to keep pace with his old friend."

Hiruzen gripped the bridge of his nose. "What a surprise this is, Kazuki." He replied flatly, only neglecting rolling his eyes because that was unbecoming of one in his station.

"Aw shucks Saru, ya ain't gotten bored of me yet, admit it! Now come on, ya promised to come an' hear me out."

"Kazuki, I believe I agree to see to the situation when the paperwork crossed my desk – or better yet, why have you not taken this to the appropriate division for application? There are _official _channels for things such as this, you know."

"Official? Why, I know that you, as the Hokage, counts as the most official Official I can get in this damn village. I mean, why go to some boring sucker filling out paperwork all day that would probably just blow his nose on my application when I can bug you? It's just good business."

Sarutobi slid his eyes to the jounin hopping with crutches next to him, and for the second time in almost as many minutes allowed a sigh to escape him. He felt himself relenting, although there was only so much he could do. "Describe the situation." He stated. It never paid to just assume when it came to bureaucracy.

"I want to foster Hiroshi, an orphan discovered at my previous command post, Kajiku Village."

Hiruzen nodded, "You'll have to fill in the proper forms, Kazu, no matter what is said here today. But you know that."

Kazuki grimaced but nodded. The evils of paperwork could not be avoided in such a situation.

"I can meet the youngster today and evaluate your claim to the child, of course, but you must search down Minato-kun for the confirmation of his legitimate entrance into Konoha. You will also have to present the application to the council pending settlement on your non-active status."

"Yes, I know. Now, come on Saru, I've been wanting you to meet the gaki for a while now – he woke up a few days ago and after a bit of a rough patch-" discovering Maya's fate "-he's been doing fucking brilliantly. Even got that good ol' shinobi aversion to hospitals – it's making me proud to be his big brother." He faked the wiping of a tear, not able to conceal the shit-eating grin spreading across his face.

Hiruzen glanced sideways at his fellow shinobi. "It is good to hear the boy is doing well but... I guess that it is Konoha's turn to watch out for the 'demon', ne? Should I get out The List?" he joked.

It just so happened that both men spotted a head of blond hair turning the corner at that moment, and shared a look before moving in...

•◊**ΰ◊•**

"...And that's how to properly dismantle an exploding tag _if the situation permits_, and the _ideal_ conditions present themselves. Genin, dismissed." The Chunin, hair wrapped up in a black bandanna and a rather outlandish dress sense of red-and-white rushed out of the room without a further word, undisguised relief crossing his face.

Uchiha Obito started to gather up his books, looking to the genin beside him pathetically, "...I can't _believe_ they make us go back to the academy after we've graduated as genin."

Rin pursed her lips and tapped her finger against the spine of the textbook for the class impatiently, "It's what they've done for the war – you _know _the jounin-sensei need to go out for higher-ranked missions and that they can't take us with them. It's-"

"- to allow for early graduation and more genin graduates blah blah blah yes I _know_! It just sucks alright? I mean, my dad didn't have to do that, and... It's just unfair, alright? And anyway, Minato-sensei _isn't _out on a mission."

Rin brushed her bangs behind her ears and decided to ignore the pouting Uchiha's mood. Graduation age had been reduced to allow for the inflation of shinobi within the ranks, and in order to make up for the unstable situation outside of the village, classroom training time had to be included. It ensured that skills they needed were not missed out on because of the war.

"Come on, Obito, we're meeting Kakashi-kun and Minato-sensei for training after this. Minato-sensei said he'd show us something cool if we showed up on time – so let's get going!" She grabbed onto the Uchiha's sleeve, well aware by now of his propensity of getting lost and being ridiculously late to meetings.

"Rin-chan..." Obito muttered, face heating up as his eyes flicked between her hand on his and the girl herself.

The young kunoichi ignored this, dragging her fellow teammate out of the academy and down the street. "Minato-sensei said they'd meet us at the yakitori stand down here... oh, there he is! Oh, who...?"

She pulled up to an abrupt stop, the Uchiha stumbling into her back, yanked by the grip she retained on his sleeve. His view was blocked by her hair, so he poked her in the back a few times, "Rin-chan, move out of the way! I can't see!"

The girl took a stuttering step forward, releasing the boy as she did so from suddenly weak hands, before she squeaked and spun around behind the Uchiha, crouching down.

"Wha- Rin-chan...?"

"Th-th-the Hokage!" She stuttered in shock, wide-eyed and peaking back out from under Obito's raised arm.

Obito glanced confusedly back at Rin – he was distracted by her rather uncharacteristic actions – before he looked where she was peeking.

Half way down the street was definitely Minato-sensei, but with him was – as Rin had discovered – the Hokage. Actually, there was Hokage-sama and that jounin that they'd found and helped on their last mission... Kaz-something.

Minato-sensei seemed to be talking to the two highly-ranked shinobi – he wondered about why, but didn't let it bother him unduly. After all, they'd definitely find out soon – "Come on Rin-chan, let's go see what's happening!"

In a reversal of roles, he grabbed her hand and dragged the red-faced, stuttering and wide-eyed young kunoichi up to the three jounin, shouting "Yo, Minato-sensei!"

This definitely caught their attention, and Obito decided to ignore his sensei's subtle facepalm – he was probably imagining it. After all, Minato-sensei was cool and very uptight – Obito would be the man had never even properly slurped ramen in his life! You know, the type of slurping where you get the broth all over your face and the front of your clothes – the one you reserve for the _best_ ramen.

"...Obito-kun, Rin-chan. I'm surprised you managed to get here on time – you're even early. I thought you had a lecture at the academy until two o'clock?"

Obito waved his hand, "Well, Red-sensei finished it early, pretty nice of him! Anyway, what'cha doing?" He slipped his curious gaze over to the Hokage and his companion, taking special not of the crutches under the later man's armpits, having never really seen them before up so close.

Rin sharply (though covertly) jabbed one of Obito's kidneys, reproving him for his very unprofessional demeanour in front of the honest-to-Kami _Hokage_ of all people. She stepped out from behind her teammate and bowed, "Sorry about Obito-kun, Hokage-sama. I'm Rin, and it is nice to meet you, sir."

She chanced a glance up at the Hokage and was startled to see a kind smile on his face. "It's quite alright, Rin-chan; it's nice to meet you and Obito-kun somewhere less official."

The young kunoichi blushed, never having imagined the Hokage to bother with such low-ranked shinobi in such an unstable time – everybody seemed to be rushing around on very important meetings, especially the medics that she trained under; she knew more than most genin just how important and demanded the higher ranks were by the war, from firsthand experience of helping at the hospital. She imagined the Hokage was working five times harder than those under his command, but he still had time to do things like this...

Obito felt warmth rush to his cheeks, embarrassed now that Rin had demonstrated the correct behaviour and not wishing to mess up further.

Minato-sensei put a hand on his head and messed up his hair, grinning down at him; "Ah, Obito-kun and Rin-chan are definitely excited to meet you too, Hokage-sama. Isn't that right, kids?"

Something is Minato-sensei's eyes glinted and Obito found himself rapidly nodding his head along with his teammate, keeping his mouth closed but feeling a bit better since he didn't get told off.

"They're fine, Minato-kun, leave the squirts alone – they're just a bit star struck, ain't that right, Saru?"

The Hokage shot the man beside him a _look_ – it was kind of like the look Kakashi shot him when he thought he'd said something wrong now that he thought about it – "Kazuki, please keep your observations to yourself. I believe that you had a question for Minato-kun."

"Ah, yes..." The jounin, now known as Kazuki, grinned sharply at his sensei and Obito thought that this one looked a bit evil. "Mina-kun, I need you to come meet my gaki, Hiro-kun! I need ya to sign a form too, but you've gotta meet him awake first – I know he wants to thank ya, too! I told him who got him outta that heap."

Obito ignored Minato's reaction, because he was so excited – he'd _soo_ wanted to meet the kid that they'd rescued on their mission – and it looked like they'd get to! He couldn't control his excitement, "I wanna go too, Minato-sensei! Me an' Rin-chan have talked about that, and we'd like to meet him! I don't know about Kakashi, 'cos Kashi's a dick-"

"_Obito!"_ Minato growled in warning.

Obito didn't blink "-Kakashi's _not nice_, but that doesn't matter, we can just leave him behind – we don't need to scare the kid like that anyway – who'd let Kakashi near another kid after _that_ again? Come on, come on, can we go?"

_Three, two, one..._

Of course, as situations like this usually turned out, a silver blur shot from the roof and ploughed into the excited Uchiha, sending him sprawling and struggling to the ground, now in an impromptu wrestling match with his male teammate.

Minato silently groaned to himself, having counted down the time to impact. Kakashi habitually stayed apart from their team until the very last moment, so situation would have it that the ten-year old chunin tackled his similarly-aged genin counterpart for his disparaging words.

Minato shot a withering glance at Kazuki, who was very falsely 'coughing' into his hand, choosing to ignore the Hokage's similar position like a good subordinate.

He casually glanced back down at the wrestling genin. No technique at all was present in their actions, it was rather a very childish approximation of the real thing, with both boys trying to grind each other's face into the sidewalk. Although he knew that it was down as number two in the Jounin Manual of Genin-Training on the list of 'What NOT to do', placed right after '**don't** kill the brats' (the whole thing was in bold, underlined three times and circled in the actual book), he rather thought this kind of play-wrestling was good for Kakashi – it got the kid to show some emotion, which was becoming something seen less and less these days.

At least it seemed like Hokage-sama agreed with him.

He turned back to the two men; "Is Hiroshi available to meet now, Kazuki-san?

"Yup, wouldn't be suggesting it if he wasn't – punk's been right as rain, or as close to it since he's dealing with those medics. Hah, he's a resilient little brat."

They stood there for a few seconds, watching the two kids rolling around, before Kazuki grew impatient. He awkwardly hopped forward on his crutches before lifting one and using it to crack them both over the head, getting pained grunts from them, "Now come on, brats, we're going to meet mine – behave nicely, yah hear?"

He loomed over two threateningly, eyes gleaming with warning.

•◊**ΰ◊•**

"This is it. Be good kiddies." Kazuki shot snarkily back at the two young boys, both of which had their arms crossed and were scowling in different directions, shooting some glares the old jounin's way.

It had taken a bit of quick moving to get such a large (and outlandish) group past the nurses, but they'd managed it – admittedly, mainly because of the Hokage's presence, but still.

"Hiro-kun! Visitors!"

Minato was holding up the rear of their procession, and found it necessary to give Kakashi a little shove through the door, "You'll be fine, just keep your kunai out of reach." He whispered encouragingly to the boy while performing the action.

'Kashi threw a dirty look at him over his shoulder, but Minato studiously ignored it with the presence of both the Hokage and a previous jounin-commander in their midst.

It was a normal hospital room, although there seemed to be some kind of half scrubbed-off marks along the far wall (like someone had stolen a permanent marker and started drawing little comics, actually) and his eyes were drawn to the single bed and its occupant.

It was his first proper look at the boy, and to his surprise his hair seemed to be in more of a wild mess than it had been when he'd finished him out from the wreckage. The eyes were exactly how he'd remembered them – that strange, almost luminescent shade of emerald gazing out at him, seeming to be coloured with the mark of experience beyond that his years belied.

"Heya, Hiro-kun!" Obito practically shouted, flinging himself onto the hospital bed in the rambunctious manner for which he was known. He was echoed more quietly by Rin, who conducted herself with some measure of dignity (at least in the presence of such highly ranked shinobi, anyway).

Minato made his way next to the bed, making sure to nudge his silver-haired chunin along in front of him.

Hiroshi seemed to be rather shocked by Obito's... nature, and his attention was fully captured, so Minato looked over to his fellow adults in the room (at least in body, though the jury was still out on the men's mental ages, in his opinion at least) and raised a golden eyebrow. "So, _why_ did you accost me on the street like that, again? I missed your well thought out and _reasoned_ answer when we were interrupted."

Kazuki smirked at him, and the Hokage adjusted his hat in a movement Minato _knew_ was crafted to obscure his expression. Kazuki opened his mouth to reply, only to be momentarily distracted by a small hand tugging on his sleeve, "Oh? Eh, they're fine gaki, don't be scared now. They were on the Team that found us at Kajiku, the one I told ya about – that's Obito, Rin and Kakashi, and Blondie here's Minato. Thank 'em, yeah?"

Minato was forced to smother his twitching expression with a cough; Hiro's bewildered and shocked expression, wide-eyed and his mouth hanging open, were undeniably adorable for the whole effect they had on his face – he actually looked kind of like a little puppy.

"Anyway" Kazuki turned his attention back to him, with a flicking gesture at Hiro's forehead that made the boy try to scamper backwards to avoid it, "Mina-kun, I need ya to sign some things for me – ya know, just papers sayin' ya brought Hiro an' me into Konoha. It's so I can take Hiroshi in – ya know, gotta get the proper paperwork done." He finished virtuously, like it was his idea in the first place when Minato could see poor Sarutobi rubbing his temples over the man's shoulder.

Seeing no reason to decline, Minato nodded. "Sure, just bring the forms whenever."

White pages were promptly shoved right under his nose, and Minato flinched from the abrupt actions. "Sign here, then page twelve and seventeen. Thanks Mina-kun, you're a sport."

Minato groaned and only just resisted pouting (unfortunately, he was still supposed to be a role model for his genin/chunin that were present... nuts) and reluctantly grabbed the papers that were now waving around in front of his nose.

"...You had those the whole time, Kazuki?" The Hokage, now Minato's attention had been drawn, was frozen in place and looked rather put-out as he addressed his friend.

"Er... yes?" The jounin replied, looking sheepish.

"Just _why_ were you bothering me _every day_ for the past five days about it then, when you _already_ had what you needed, you, you..." His speech trailed off into an incomprehensible mutter, one that Minato would place good money on contained a few choice words at the jounin.

"Aww, Saru, you know me... I have this, um, _friend_ in the department, and for a very nominal fee he got me the papers and stuff, and I know _you,_ so I figured you'd want to be a good friend and help and well..."

The Hokage seemed to be collecting a rather ominous aura, and Minato flipped through and speed-read the sections Kazuki had told him to sign before putting his actual signature down, knowing it would be left up to him to get his genin out of the blast range.

"You... _bribed_ one of my ninja?!"

Minato shoved the completed papers at Kazuki, grabbed Rin, Kakashi and Obito (who had a death-hold in the form of a hug on Hiro-kun) and promptly lifted them all up together in a rather strange hug-thing, before running them out the door and away from the rising chakra signatures.

They reached the doors of the hospital and Minato could just barely pick out a shouted "_KIND OF?!"_ as he turned to his team plus one and said calmly with a rather manufactured smile. "Well, let's all go have yakitori. Hiro-kun, Kazuki is just a little held up right now, so you'll come with us – I bet you'll love it."

Minato quickly encouraged them along the street, ignoring any protests from Hiroshi while making sure that Obito was carrying the boy properly to avoid further injury, and prayed that the two old men would sort themselves out and not blame him for anything.

•◊**ΰ◊•**

_A/N: I really tried to make this chapter longer than my previous ones, so don't say I do not heed advice! Hopefully this makes sense… we're still on my previously-written stuff, but are closer to catching up to where I was when the site deleted this story. _

_-skyflyte12 (reviews appreciated)_


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